Retribution
by Known Unknowns
Summary: House and the gang are all in danger as demons from the past threaten the lives of everyone at PPTH. It seems the only way to keep himself and the people he cares about safe is to join forces with his old nemesis... as darkness descends on Princeton, not everyone will make it out alive. Completed 3/9/13.
1. Opening Moves

**Chapter 1: Opening Moves**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company._

* * *

Gripping his cane, House plodded out of the hospital into the abysmal and stormy weather waiting for him outside. It was unusually bad. Massive power outages had caused PPTH to rely on back-up generators to maintain electricity in the hospital. House decided that he wanted to get home before the roads were flooded too badly, and he ended up stuck in the hospital for God only knows how long.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have completely loathed the idea of being trapped in his office with his music and porn, but since their recent patient was now lying dead in the morgue, he decided that around the remaining applicants, or Cuddy, who would no doubt be furious, was the absolute last place he wanted to be.

House ducked his head against the harsh wind and rain, which spattered loudly on his leather jacket and stung the side of his uncovered face. He had often mocked Wilson for always having an umbrella with him, even in the nicest weather, but now he saw the use of carrying one. The elements sucked.

His cane had very little purchase on the slick pavement, so his progress across the parking lot was haggard and slow. He finally arrived at his motorcycle, which he was mentally kicking himself in the ass for driving to work instead of his car. He decided if there was ever a time to wear his helmet, it was now. Fitting it over his head, the pouring rain was now an obscenely loud pattering on the hard surface of the helmet. Huffing loudly, he threw a leg over his motorcycle and revved the engine. He quickly sped out of the parking lot, the freezing cold rain hitting him hard. The only visible part of his body were his hands, which were stinging while the iced fire hit his bare skin.

The ride back to his apartment was arduous and unpleasant. By the time he arrived home, he was drenched quite thoroughly and was shivering.

"Goddamn." He swore to himself as he parked his bike in front of his apartment. Stumbling off of his motorcycle, he grabbed his cane from the side and began wearily making his way towards his home. Once inside the apartment complex, he took off his helmet and shook out his hair, not unlike a wet dog that had just been let inside. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his apartment key, and quickly opened his door, stepping into his dark apartment.

In the hazy gray light being let in by the windows, his apartment looked positively morbid. The usual soft light that infused the warm earth tones was gone, making everything seem dank and attic-like. Something about the way his home looked disturbed him... which was odd, because it was usually very difficult to unsettle House. He flicked on the light, and the cold fear that had began creeping through his freezing bones quickly dissipated. He breathed a sigh as he peeled of his jacket, which although water proof, was still completely water-logged. Shaking it off, he hung it on his coat and rack and kicked off his wet sneakers. He immediately made a beeline for the bathroom.

Stepping onto the linoleum, House quickly threw off his shirt, which landed untidily next to the laundry hamper, which House noticed (much to his misery) was overflowing. Tomorrow was going to have to be laundry day. Limping forward, House discarded his damp cane by the side of the tub as he turned on the hot water spigot to full blast. He made sure his cane was just close enough to the tub so it could be easily reached for when he needed to get out. Next his socks and jeans accompanied his shirt next to the hamper, and finally House stepped out of his boxers into the shallow pool of steaming water that had already built in the bathtub. House had no patience to wait for it to be completely full to get in, so he was half warm and half freezing for the next few moments. Finally, once the water was threatening to spill over the sides of the tub, House turned off the water and settled comfortably into the curve of the tub.

Picking up an old copy of Gossip Weekly, House relaxed his usually tense muscles and began perusing the magazine. Although his eyes raked over the words, he wasn't taking in much of it. He was content just sitting there, really. The usual intense pain in his leg had been reduced to a dull throbbing by the hot water, and it was a blissful relief.

_Speaking of blissful relief..._

Scooping up his cane with his free hand, he used it to pick up his jeans by the waist band and lure them towards him. Once within his reach, House grabbed the garment and grabbed the familiar orange bottle within the right hand pocket. Once in his hand, House realized he had only eight pills left.

He had just gotten the new bottle two days beforehand.

Sighing as he poured two into his hand and promptly dry swallowed both of the tablets, he decided he would have to go easy for the next few days and dip into one of his other stashes, or else Wilson would be up his ass about his 'addiction', his 'problem'.

Sighing yet again, House tossed the pill bottle to the side and let his eyes drift close. He would lay here, away from the troubles of the world, away from his pain for a little while longer. Until the tepid bathwater forced him out. Lulled by the warmth and his tired eyes, House soon slipped into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

Demetrius Ivashkov was not a bad man. He was simply a man that understood necessity, that understood what needed to be done. He believed that everyone was born with a God given talent.

His was taking human life.

Expecting him not to act on his gift would be like asking Tolkien not to write, Newton not to study the sciences, Washington not to lead. It was impractical to disregard his own talents for a more mundane profession, for a... _legal_ profession.

This was not to say he particularly enjoyed what he did. He often found the people he was paid to kill were undeserving of his reaping, but, once again...

He was a man who understood necessity. This was his career choice, his expertise. Just like a man with a typical nine to five job relied on his work to pay his bills and feed himself, so too did Demetrius rely on his job to cover his expenses. The only difference was a desk job was considered normal and respectable, while the art of killing was considered a taboo by normal society.

Of course, no one knew what he did except his clients, and their information on him was shallow to say the least. They knew how to get in contact with him, and that was the extent of their information. To them, he was Karma, his cover name which he found eerily fitting.

It especially seemed fitting in this situation, with his current target.

As Demetrius laid flat against the rooftop of the building he was hidden on, with rain spattering loudly on his sniper rifle, he considered the man who now had a laser point sitting directly between his eyes as he napped in his tub.

Dr. Gregory House.

His client had given him just the most basic information, but Demetrius was not a man who would kill a complete stranger. Aside from his own curiosity, he wanted to know what he was dealing with when he went on a job, what problems to expect, if any. He diligently researched each of his targets before their elimination, and with Dr. House it had been no different.

It had not taken long at all to find out all he needed to know and more about the doctor. A world famous diagnostician who worked at Princeton Plainsboro, Dr. House was well known in the medical community for being a brilliant doctor with a positively atrocious bedside manner. Further research showed that the diagnostician had not spent his long, sordid career making friends. He hacked into the hospital mainframe, and it was easy to see that most of the caustic doctor's patients, although cured, did not walk away happy. Dr. House had gotten more lawsuits in the past year than all the other doctors in the hospital combined.

From what he had read, it seemed like the mysterious House was a narcissist with a God complex, and it was unlikely he would be sorely missed.

Having followed the doctor for the past two weeks to get a sense of his schedule, habits, and personality, he had noticed that House didn't seem to have a great number of friends, which was unsurprising. A young brown haired man had come to House's apartment several times, either to spend time with him their or to pick him up to go to a restaurant or bar. He had also seen House leaving the hospital with the man, so after a little digging, Demetrius discovered it was Dr. James Wilson, head of Oncology at Princeton Plainsboro, and by the looks of it, House's sole friend.

He investigated the hiring 'game' House had been playing for the past two weeks, and had memorized the names and addressed of all of the applicants, three of which he knew had been fired several hours before, after they had killed their recent patient. It was amazing what information you could get merely from a janitor disguise.

He made sure to keep close tabs on all of the people his targets assosciated with, in case he needed bait or leverage to lure them to their deaths. It was curious the lengths people were willing to go to for the people they loved. He had never understood the human connection, the willingness to sacrifice yourself for someone you cared about... some would say it made him a psychopath, but in his opinion his method of living made sense. Other people were liabilities, problems. If you only had one person to look out for, difficulties could be taken care much more easily, and in a more timely manner. It was really a matter of self-preservation.

Of course, he thought with a smile, it looked as though none of this information would be needed. As a loud thunder strike shook the building, he carefully steadied his rifle. The persistent noise of the storm would cover the sound of the glass breaking in House's apartment, and since his rifle had a silencer, no one would hear the bullet firing from the barrel. It would likely be many hours, perhaps days, before Dr. House was found, and by then he would be on a plane back to Russia with a fresh million sitting in one of his many foreign bank accounts.

Still smiling, Demetrius pulled the trigger.

* * *

House was awakened abruptly by a dull _thunk_ next to his head. Jerking his head, he saw a deep indentation in the bath tile, and with horror he saw a pale gold shell casing floating in his now lukewarm bathwater.

* * *

A heavy rain drop flew into his eye just as his finger hit the trigger, and much to Demetrius' consternation, his bullet flew of course, missing his target by centimeters. _No matter._ He thought._ I will not miss again. _

* * *

"The hell-" House yelled as another bullet zoomed past his head, and with a painful sting he realized the projectile had nicked his right ear. With a yelp he scrambled, completely naked, out of the bathtub and onto the icy bathroom floor. He army-crawled to the space below the window as two more bullets soared through his window, now completely shattering the glass. Two holes appeared in the floor where he had been only moments before. He was now directly under the window, and he knew there was no way that whoever was aiming for him could get him now. Holding a hand on his ear to stem the trickle of blood, House tried desperately to calm his breathing. He reached out for a towel under his sink cabinet and wrapped it around his lower half.

_Police... got to call the police... _

The only problem was that his cell phone was snuggled in the pocket of his jeans, which were in a crumpled heap on the bathmat. The only way to get to them would be to put himself in the direct line of fire of his mysterious assailant. Of course, if no one knew House was here, then they could just as well come over to his apartment and kill him here anyway.

It was a risk he was going to have to take, he decided. Taking a deep breath, he jettisoned himself across the bathroom, landing neatly on the bathmat. A sharp pain ripped through his leg, but he ignored it, because just as his hands clasped around his cell phone, a tearing, searing agony shot up the length of his arm, the epicenter being his shoulder, eliciting a scream of pain as he fell back on the floor, writhing.

It took all of House's willpower to drag himself, one armed, across the slick bathroom floor, which was now wet with both bathwater and blood. Just as he was almost in the clear and back to the safety of the window, another shock ripped through his left ankle, and he threw himself against the wall, one hand clutching his ankle, the other his shoulder.

_Focus, focus! _He berated himself mentally. He tried desperately to block out the pain, biting down hard on his lip as he flipped open the cell phone. A coppery taste filled his mouth. Blood.

With fumbling fingers, he dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1 Dispatch, what is your emergency?" a pleasant female voice came on the line. House was hoping his haggard breathing would be enough of a tip that he was in a bad situation, but he decided he was going to have to speak.

"Send an ambulance and an officer to 221B Baker St." He murmured, fighting to stay conscious.

"What exactly is the nature of your emergency, sir?" She asked. As his vision blurred and his head fuzzed from blood loss, House answered.

"I've... I've been shot." These were the last words out of his mouth as he collapsed backwards, his head smacking against the bath tile. He dropped the phone with a clatter as the world went black.


	2. Crosshairs

**Chapter 2: Crosshairs**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company._

* * *

Demetrius cursed. The perpetually pouring rain had worsened his typically perfect accuracy. Dr. House was now on the ground in his bathroom, slowly bleeding out, but if he was not mistaken, he had called the emergency dispatch number, and both an ambulance and the police would be here at any moment. He had failed at his first attempt to kill the old doctor, but he was by no means done trying. He hauled himself off of the ground and raced across the top of the building he was on. Once he reached the edge, he vaulted across the small gap, his body briefly airborne many feet above the ground, and landed on the apartment complex.

He knew that if he rushed, he could trample down the utility stairs, pick the lock to House's apartment, and have a knife at the doctor's throat within five minutes, but Demetrius was a cautious man. He did not want to risk being seen exiting the apartment, and he did not want the police to arrive at some inopportune time... such as directly after he had slit Dr. House's throat. Yes, that would be very inopportune indeed, he thought as he began his descent down the fire escape.

He did not take irrational risks in his line of work, and this job was no different from the hundreds of others he had performed. He would strike at Dr. House another time. There was no deadline for Dr. House's death, according to his client. He had time. He would do the job right.

Smiling slightly, he hopped from the bottom stair of the fire escape and landed gracefully on the ground. He hurried to his car lying in wait for him, depositing his rifle in his trunk along with his ammo and black mask just as he heard sirens wailing in the distance, coupling with the sound of thunder in a twisted crescendo.

* * *

The first thing House was aware of was, for the first time, _not_ the intense clawing pain in his thigh, but instead the significantly worse pain in his shoulder and ankle. House peeled open his eyes, and seemed to be having a flash back from a year and a half ago, when he was shot by a disgruntled husband of one of his ex-patients. Both situations seemed very similar, only this time Cameron was not hanging over him with her typical heart-on-her-sleeve "Oh no, a sick puppy!" look. Instead, two EMTs were milling around him. His eyes drifted to his heart monitor. Steady, though his blood pressure was alarmingly low. Suddenly he felt a cold hand on his neck. He shifted, brushing away the EMT's hand.

"I think the monitor would let you know if I was dead. How about instead of checking my pulse every fifteen seconds you give me some morphine? I feel like someone poured hot lead into my shoulder and ankle." He groaned, using his good arm to cover his eyes. The fluorescent light in the ambulance was burning his irises. "Was it my Achilles tendon?" He asked. The EMT gaped at him.

"Are you a doctor?" He asked. House sighed.

"Depends. Which answer will get you to stop staring at me and _give me some damn morphine_?" He growled. The EMT furrowed his brow and looked at the other medic, who had gray hair and actually looked like he knew what he was doing. The man looked vaguely familiar.

"Boss?" He asked carefully. The gray haired man was examining House.

"You're Greg House, aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow at him. House closed his eyes, letting his arm drop to his side. He didn't have the strength to keep it up any longer. "The big shot diagnostician?"

"You've seen my stage show." House answered airily. "Morphine?" He asked yet again. The medic sighed.

"Fine. I'm assuming you want to go to Princeton Plainsboro?" He asked, heading towards the driver.

"Preferably." House mumbled nearly inaudibly as lights began to pulse underneath his eyelids. "How much blood have I lost?" He asked in a faint voice.

"About a pint. We'll get you a transfusion as soon as we get you to the hospital. What blood type are you?"

"AB Negative." House muttered. "Universal recipient." He felt an irritating prick and pulling sensation as the IV was slipped into his arm. House breathed a sigh of relief as the morphine flowed through his veins, dulling the intense pain that throbbed in his body. The lights under his eyes faded, and House slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When House woke up this time, the first thing he noticed was not his pain, but instead a warm pressure on his hand. The lack of vibration and bumps told him he was no longer in the ambulance, and the rock hard mattress and thin linen sheets told him he was in a hospital bed. The hand on his felt soft...

It didn't take much for House to surmise that he was at PPTH, most likely in a private room, with Cuddy sitting diligently at his bedside holding his hand. He debated whether to open his eyes or not. In his moment of deliberation, he realized that Cuddy was talking to someone.

_I've become too good at drowning her out. _He chastised himself with a hint of dark humor. Sharpening in his ears, he tried to focus on the conversation.

"...would want House dead?" Cuddy asked, her voice sounding weak. _She's probably been crying. _Then he heard another voice, and realized that he now wanted to open his eyes.

"A better question would be, who _doesn't _want House dead?" Wilson's weary voice rang in his ears. "House has successfully pissed off almost every person he's ever come in contact with, I wouldn't be surprised if people are lining up to get a shot at him."

"Feelin' the love, Wilson." House mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes to adjust to the harsh light of the hospital room. His eyes flicked immediately to Wilson, who looked stressed and tired, understandably. If positions had been switched and Wilson had been shot, House would probably be in worse condition than his friend appeared to be.

"You're awake!" Cuddy exclaimed, tightening her grip on his hand. His eyes switched to her. Her blue eyes were shining, and her typically neat appearance had been rendered messy, her dark curls sticking up in odd places.

"I get shot full of holes and all I get is hand on hand contact? How many bullets do I need in me to get pity sex?" He asked suggestively with a waggle of his eyebrows. Cuddy let out an exasperated breath.

"Good to see your delightful wit wasn't affected." She muttered, releasing his hand.

"Yes. It's very dangerous getting shot so close to the brain." He groaned as he put a hand on his heavily bandaged shoulder. "How long has it been since I was admitted?"

"Six hours. It's," Wilson stopped to check his watch. "one in the morning."

"You know me, I'm a night owl." House responded. "Cops checking out my place?" He asked.

"They sent over a forensics team hours ago. They're processing your apartment, which is now a crime scene." Wilson stepped closer to House's bed and met his eyes. He could see the classic worry wart Wilson look in his eyes, but it did warm his heart slightly to see his friend, and to know he cared. "House, what the hell happened?"

"I was taking a bath. Someone shot at me." He said, absent mindedly running a hand through his thinning brown hair. "It's not rocket science."

"So you have no idea-"

"You think I was waltzing around my bathroom, _knowing _someone was pointing a rifle at me?" He asked edgily. Wilson sighed.

"You know what I mean. Any particularly volatile patients you've had lately?"

"I'm a jerk, I'm rude, but I'm not rude enough in most cases to make people want to shoot me... excepting the obvious." He told him.

"House," Cuddy began. "do you think it could be Moriarty trying to finish the job?" Her voice seemed to be bordering on frantic.

"I don't see why he'd wait until nearly two years later to have another shot at me. Pardon the pun." He added mordantly. House blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear the blurriness that was hovering around the corners. "How long do I have to be here?" He asked.

"They want to keep you for a week." Cuddy informed him. "I told them there was no way you'd stay for that long. They said it was dangerous for you to leave before then..." She smiled ruefully. "so I posted a security guard outside your door."

"Yes, it would be impossible for me to get past some ninth grade drop out with a taser and a diet made up solely of donuts and instant coffee. You're lucky I'm crippled."

"Incredibly so. You're not leaving until you're back to normal. You've officially been shot five times, that's not something most people can claim, or want to for that matter. You're lucky to be alive." Cuddy said as she stood up and straightened her skirt. "I told the cops to leave you alone for tonight, but they're going to want to meet with you tomorrow. It's pretty clear someone is after you, House." She said in a small voice. "I'm scared for you."

"You flatter me. But don't worry, the people who want to kill me generally seem to give up after one failed attempt. I'm sure he's sufficiently discouraged." This was the closest he would ever come to trying to reassure someone... contrary to popular belief, House _did_ care about his friends... he didn't want Cuddy and Wilson lying awake at night, imagining assassins jumping out of every dark corner at him.

"I've got to get home, I've got a meeting at seven thirty tomorrow and I can't reschedule..." Cuddy muttered as she checked her phone. She gave House an apologetic hand squeeze as she turned on her heel and exited the room. "Stay safe." She said over her shoulder as she slid open the glass door.

This left House and Wilson alone. Wilson sighed as he took the chair previously occupied by Cuddy. Running a hand over his face, Wilson looked positively disheveled.

"It would be nice if just a few years could go by without you having a near death experience." Wilson said in an exasperated voice. House shrugged.

"I'll make sure to stop jumping in front of bullets... you know me, I'm desperate for attention."

"_House_," Wilson groaned. "someone tried to _end your life_." He emphasized, throwing up his hands. "Think you could take this seriously for five seconds?"

"What do you want me to say?" House snapped, annoyed. "That I'm terrified that he's going to come back and finish what he started? That I won't feel safe again in my own home? Congratulations, I do feel that way. But if I wanted to talk about it, I'd bring it up."

"You never want to talk about anything." Wilson huffed. "Ever."

"I'm hoping that the 76,364th time will be the charm, and you'll finally get the idea."

"This is serious." Wilson repeated, his voice now becoming strained with frustration. House could tell he was starting to push over the line. There's one thing Wilson took very seriously, and that was House's health.

It was endearing, yes, but also insufferable.

"_I know_." House growled low in his throat. For once, he really couldn't think of anything to add. "I'll talk to the cops tomorrow. It's all I can do." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Cuddy's warned the security guards?"

"Yes... but you don't need to worry about that." Wilson answered slowly and with a cryptic note in his voice.

"Why?" House answered in a mockingly drawn out voice.

"Because one, Cuddy really does have an armed guard outside your door... and because..." Wilson clasped his hands together and dropped his eyes to the floor. "and because I'm sleeping in here with you."

"I'm not sure there's enough room on the bed." House responded sarcastically, offering Wilson a very small hint of a smile.

"You know what I mean, jackass." Wilson retorted. House's face dropped.

"I don't need a bodyguard, Wilson." He commented, trying to catch the oncologist's eye. It was unusual to see Wilson embarrassed about something.

"It's not up for debate. You're not in decent enough condition to kick me out by force, so..." He let out a sharp breath through his nose. "I'm staying."

"Great. So if he comes back, he of course referring to _the person who wants me dead_, he can kill you too! Two birds with one stone, two doctors with one bullet. Fantastic plan." House seethed. He was not some fragile child that needed to be watched over.

"Not up for debate." Wilson reminded him, crossing his arms and shifting back in his chair, still not meeting House's eyes.

"And you criticize _me_ for not talking about things." House pointed out.

"You're tired House. Go to bed." Wilson sighed.

"I'm already in bed."

"Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired." House replied petulantly, instilling a child like whine into his voice.

"Yes, you are. You've got too much morphine in your system not to be." Damn. Wilson had him there. Since he had woken up, he had been fighting to keep his eyes open. House bit the inside of his lip, unable to think of a further argument. Wilson's eyes briefly darted to House before flipping the sole lamp on his bedside table off, drenching the room in darkness. He heard shifting as Wilson rose from his chair to move to the loveseat on the other side of the room. He knew it would not be a comfortable night for his best friend, the small seat was not nearly long enough for Wilson to stretch out on. This angered House for some reason. Why would Wilson make himself miserable just to be here while House was asleep? If the killer could get past the guards, they could definitely get past Wilson, whom House thought was about as violent and intimidating as a fluffy bunny. House stared at Wilson through the thick darkness. Faint light from the streetlights illuminated the room ever so slightly, so he could see Wilson's blurry outline. He focused, trying to garner some explanation for his friend's behavior.

After several long moments, Wilson stretched out on the couch, turning away from House. Furrowing his brow, he gave up on his investigation into Wilson's motives for the time being. He would drill his friend for further explanation in the morning...

Just as he was about to drift off into a peaceful, medicated oblivion, Wilson spoke in a soft voice.

"House... I'm so glad you're okay..."

With his eyes wetted almost unnoticeably, House smashed his head into his pillow, unable to respond.


	3. And My Enemies Closer

**Chapter 3: And My Enemies Closer**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD! All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company_.

* * *

House groaned as Wilson shook his good shoulder, evidently trying to rouse him from his previously comfortable slumber.

"Five more minutes, Mom." He said, his voice heavily muffled by his pillow.

"House, come on, it's noon. The cops have been waiting to talk to you for three hours. They're starting to get impatient."

"They're getting paid twenty bucks an hour to stand around... I don't see the difference from their usual routine." House replied derisively.

"House, they're on your side... insulting them isn't the best course of action." Wilson said tiredly as House flipped over. He had been sleeping on his stomach, as per usual. His eyes were immediately stung by the light, and he was grateful that Wilson's face was so close to his that his features were blocking out most of the irritating light. However, Wilson's face being only inches from his own, House's breath caught and he jumped.

"Jesus!" He shouted through gritted teeth. Wilson had jumped backwards as well.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hover over you like that, but I've been trying to wake you for twenty minutes." Wilson explained, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you up to talking to them?"

"Define _them_... am I talking to pencil pushers or actual police?" House asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Uh... they're actual police." Wilson said in a dodgy tone. House blinked at him.

"What?" He asked, trying to figure out Wilson's suddenly nervous demeanor. Wilson sidled slightly to the left.

"I'll just go get them then." He stammered as he hurried out the door, leaving House to stare at the spot where Wilson had been standing only moments before.

Wilson's peculiar behavior had him on edge. Why would a visit from the police, whom Wilson seemed so keen on House speaking with, agitate him this way? Leaning back into his pillows, he ran a hand through his hair. Despite the steady flow of morphine into his system, House still felt a dull, continuously throbbing pain in most of his body. He thought of upping his own morphine, but decided that the minute either Cuddy or Wilson or one of the intolerable nurses came in, they'd set him back to the normal dose.

Sighing, he waited for Wilson to come back with the cops, wondering why the hell they even needed to talk to him. Did they hope to uncover some missing fact from him? He was shot unawares from a distance. House doubted he would be able to offer up a scrap of useful evidence.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Lifting his head from his pillow, his eyes widened as Wilson walked in with the police officers who had been waiting outside.

And House recognized one of them.

"You've got to be kidding me." House burst out, raking his eyes over the scene in front of him.

Wilson stood by the door, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes averted, unwilling to make eye contact. Next to him stood a tall, rather intimidating man with a rough beard not unlike his own.

Beside the man stood Michael Tritter.

"Pleasure to see you again, Dr. House." Tritter said with a fake smile. House furrowed his brow.

"Can't say the same, I'm afraid. So, how've you been? Spiteful vendettas against innocent people keeping you busy?" He asked innocently. Tritter kept his facade on, a thick toad like smile still stuck sickeningly on his features.

"Innocent?" He raised his eyebrows. "Or lucky?"

"Um, gentleman?" The tall man asked. "I'm sensing some tension?"

"Haven't told your cop friend?" House asked, tilting his head. "Weird. Who wouldn't want to tell everyone that they made the big scary doctor poop his pants?" Tritter's smile finally dropped, eliciting a sick sense of satisfaction from House. He glared at House with venom in his eyes, but ignored House's comment and responded to the other man's query.

"Dr. House and I have some history." He answered evasively.

"He kicked my cane out from under me, so I shoved a thermometer up his ass. So, he tried to ruin my life." House shared enthusiastically. "Very fun couple weeks. Thankfully he _failed miserably_."

"Says the doctor who was held in contempt of court and spent a nice few days detoxing over a toilet." Replied Tritter sleekly. House felt rage bubbling inside of him.

"What are you doing here, anyway? I thought drug enforcement was your area of expertise. Or presumed area of expertise."

"I got a promotion." Tritter replied, a self-important look coming over his face. House clenched his fist.

"You make a fool of yourself in the media, and they give you a promotion?" House asked through gritted teeth. His one consolation for all the hell Tritter had put him and his friends through (aside from successfully faking rehab and avoiding jail, that is) had been that he was probably working the night shift as a security guard in an outlet mall in Trenton. But they gave the son of a bitch a _promotion_?

"My superiors were impressed that I stuck through, trying to administer justice even though the odds were against me." Tritter responded with a raised a eyebrow.

"_Justice?_" House raged, sitting up straight in his bed, causing a sharp pain in his shoulder. Wincing, he continued. "Being a self righteous asshole is justice?"

"House!" Wilson warned, stepping forward and speaking up finally. "Your life is most likely in Detective Tritter's hands, do you really want to piss him off?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, Dr. Wilson. I won't let my personal feelings for Dr. House interfere with my work." He said in a mockingly reassuring voice.

"Actually, you won't have to worry about that because my life won't be in your hands. I'd like someone whose actually motivated to keep me alive-"

"House, I may hate your guts, but I don't want you dead." He interrupted. "You know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"Actually, that still just makes you my enemy." House replied sardonically. The tall man stepped forward now, trying to diffuse the situation after a quick glance at Wilson.

"Dr. House," He began. "you have my full assurance that the Princeton Taskforce is going to do anything within our power to keep you safe and catch this guy, regardless or Detective Tritter's feelings towards you. Now, is it alright if I explain who I am, and who else will be working on your case?"

House considered the man for a moment. The sad matter was that unlike ninety nine percent of his problems, this was something he simply could not handle himself. He needed to work with the police force... but working with Tritter, the mere idea of it made his stomach turn.

Unfortunately, it seemed he had been backed into a corner, and he was left with little choice.

"Fine." House muttered, feeling defeated.

"My name is Special Agent Kenton Wayne. I'm a member of the Princeton PD-FBI joint violent crime taskforce. We operate out of the Princeton FBI field office. We're made up of six members. Detective Tritter here-" He motioned to Tritter. "is our newest member. It also includes Lieutenant Ari Kensington, a medical examiner by the name of Dr. Eric Donald, and Special Agents Shane and Kama Kaczmarek. Because of the nature of the attempt on your life, and because of your relative fame-"

"or infamy." Tritter muttered. Wayne continued on as if he hadn't heard him.

"-this has been deemed high priority. The bullets we recovered from your bathroom were from a military grade sniper. It looks like we could be dealing with an assassin of sorts, or ex-military. We'll be working around the clock to catch whoever did this. We've got an entire forensics team under our charge as well, although right now the only crime scene is your apartment, and it didn't take long to process it."

"You think there will be more crime scenes?" Wilson asked in a faint voice. Wayne quickly shook his head.

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying. This is a dangerous situation, but as long as we're working with you, with luck we'll be able to avoid any danger to you or your loved ones."

"You think the people close to me could be in danger?" House asked, a spike of terror running through him. Yes, House feared for himself, but in all honesty the idea of Wilson or Cuddy getting hurt was infinitely more terrifying.

"We just want to cover all our bases. Now, we need to talk about where you'll be staying once you're out of the hospital." House was irritated at the agent's deflection, but allowed him to continue. "We wanted to move you to a safe house immediately, but Dr. Wilson informed us that it would be unlikely that you would agree to that." House's eyes darted to Wilson, who shifted awkwardly. Sometimes he forgot how well Wilson knew him. "So, I propose that you room with Dr. Wilson until this situation is diffused. You'll have one of the Special Agents with you at all times and Detective Tritter and Lieutenant Kensington will be taking turns protecting the perimeter of Dr. Wilson's apartment. You'll be guarded twenty four hours a day."

Rooming with Wilson. The idea wasn't terrible. He and Wilson had briefly roomed together before, and it hadn't been a total disaster. Additionally, the idea of spending more time with his best friend was appealing. Maybe the slightly oppressing loneliness House often felt when he was away from the hospital would lift, ever so slightly.

Now, the idea of a Fed rooming with them as well was not appealing. His life dangling in the hands of a complete and utter stranger was disturbing, to say the least. Of course, his life was also in Tritter's hands, which made him feel even worse.

Once again, House felt as though he was trapped. He couldn't risk his and Wilson's lives by denying police protection. He sighed heavily.

"Fine." He mumbled begrudgingly.

"We also spoke to Dr. Wilson about you temporarily leaving your post as head of diagnostics-"

"Not going to happen." House said adamantly. "Just hired over forty people. I can hardly throw them out on the street, can I?"

"You mean you recently fired thirty three people." Wilson interjected.

"We figured you'd refuse. We're reinforcing the security on the hospital tenfold, and you will be accompanied by a Special Agent while you're here as well." Wayne smiled. "We are willing to make adjustments. Hopefully we'll catch this guy fast enough it will be a non-issue." He offered House a reassuring better that didn't even make him feel slightly better.

"Will a cop be hanging out in my hospital room?"

"Not in, but outside. That'll be me, for the time being. I'll be replacing the, um, 'armed guard' who is currently protecting you. Detective Tritter and Lieutenant Kensington will, once again, be doing rounds outside the hospital." Wayne informed him, cupping his hands in front of him.

"I was told you wanted to ask me questions, not tell me whose guarding my ass." House stated tiredly, feeling drowsy despite the full night's sleep he'd had.

"That's the part we're at now." Tritter said, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. Seating himself on the couch Wilson had slept on the night before, he stared intently at House. "House, do you know anyone who might want to hurt you?" He was astounded at the now cool professionalism in Tritter's voice. If he could forget his hate for House, he must be pretty damn dedicated.

"Other than you?" House said sarcastically, raising his voice and putting a finger to his lips. "Hmm, let me think... I could probably narrow it down to about three hundred people."

"House," Wilson sighed. "please, _please_ take this seriously." House gripped the edge of his bed, closing his eyes in frustration. _Think. _He thought furiously. The morphine was nice, but he couldn't help but notice the fog in his mind.

"Well, the dozens of people I just gave the sack certainly have some motivation." House said dismissively with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll have my lackeys fax your lackeys all of their resumes." Wayne nodded, and Tritter pulled out a notepad.

"Wilson explained this 'game' of yours to us. Think any of the applicants you have left might want you dead?" He asked, tapping his pen.

"Cutthroat Bitch might want to kill one of the others, but definitely not me. Other than that, Cole probably thinks I'm Satan incarnate, but thankfully he's a religious man, and therefore too cowardly to act on such things." He quipped. "If you want to check them out, check them out. I could care less."

"What about your old team? You drove Dr. Foreman away and fired Dr. Chase." A note of superiority was creeping into Tritter's voice, and it made House's blood boil.

"Chase wouldn't try to kill me. Neither would Foreman." House stated with some finality. He knew for a fact that neither of his ex-Fellows would ever want him dead. Foreman may resent him, Chase may still be stung about getting fired, but he had worked with the two men for years and was absolutely positive that neither of them would ever try or even have a desire to kill him.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." House snapped. "Foreman left because he wanted to be a better person, or at least that's the way he rationalized it. Killing someone doesn't really fall into the category of moral improvement."

"And Chase?"

"Chase wouldn't try and kill me. One, he doesn't have the backbone for it, and two, Cameron-" House paused. He had been about to say, _Cameron loves me, Chase loves Cameron._

However, after brief consideration, he realized that wasn't exactly a reassuring thing. His logic had been that Chase wouldn't want to hurt Cameron, and killing him would obviously do that.

Killing him would send Cameron tumbling into his arms, and eliminate any competition...

But Chase already had Cameron. If Cameron wanted to be with House, she wouldn't be with Chase, right? So Chase shouldn't have anything to worry about.

_He shouldn't, but he could._

House was still convinced that Chase had absolutely nothing to do with this, but he supposed that they should investigate all avenues. Sighing, he continued.

"well... maybe he's got a motive. Check him out if you want, but I know it wasn't Chase." House said with a shrug.

"Any disgruntled ex-patients?" Wayne asked. Biting the inside of his cheek, House mentally combed over his recent patients.

"My patients walk away cured. Most of them also walk away thinking I'm an ass, but they definitely don't hate me enough to warrant killing me."

"We'll be going through all your patient files, just to be safe." Wayne responded with a reassuring smile. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" He asked. House stared at his hands, searching his mind.

"No... no there's nothing else." He said with some finality. Forcing himself to meet Tritter's cold eyes, he smiled brightly. "You can leave now." Tritter nodded and got up to leave. Just as his hand touched the door, he looked back.

"Make sure to call if you think of anything else." He said before shutting the door behind him. House changed his gaze to Agent Wayne.

"You need to check Tritter out." He said immediately. Wayne smiled.

"I understand you and Detective Tritter aren't on the best terms, but-"

"I can't think of anyone who would have more motivation to kill me, and anyone who has better means." He said, trying to push an air of seriousness in his voice.

"House, Tritter values justice over anything. You know that from experience." Wilson interjected, stepping towards him. "He's going to do anything he can to-"

"He's got a chip on his shoulder and if push comes to shove, he's not going to be taking any bullets for me." House yelled, gesturing with his good arm. "He doesn't think my life is worth a shit, that's not exactly reassuring!"

"You don't have much choice." Wayne pointed out in a calm voice. "He's a member of the task force, and from what I've seen of him, he's a good addition. I'm not taking him off of your case unless he gives me a good reason to." The way Wayne said this gave House the impression that there would be nothing more said on the matter. Grimacing, House leaned back in his bed.

"Can you start that 'guarding outside my door' thing now? As apposed to the guarding _inside_ my door?" House asked rudely. Wayne nodded and quietly stepped out of the room without a backward glance. As soon as the door shut for the second time, Wilson turned on House, fire in his eyes.

"You idiot!" He exclaimed. "I get that you alienate everyone who walks in front of you, but shouldn't you know from the last time that being an ass to the police is a _bad idea_?"

"Forgive me if I don't want to put my life in the hands of someone who isn't going to be terribly motivated to save me." House spat back.

"House," Wilson implored, surprising House by putting a hand on his shoulder. "you have got to play nice with these guys. Whoever did this to you is going to come back. You're too smart _not_ to realize that." House glowered at Wilson and shrugged his hand off.

"Yeah, I know, thanks." He said sarcastically.

"I'm just trying to help you!" Wilson burst out. "Don't you get that?"

"Yeah, I do. Unfortunately I have to inform you that the post of being my mother is already filled."

"What would you do if you were in my position?" Wilson asked angrily, wringing his hands.

"I wouldn't trust my best friend's life in the hands of Michael Tritter, that's for damn sure!" House yelled.

"The Princeton PD-FBI Joint Task Force has the best track record of any investigative team on the Eastern Seaboard. If you trust them, you'll be okay!" Wilson shouted. House just closed his eyes and pressed his palm back into his right one.

"I'm happy with second best." He grumbled tiredly. He could already feel drowsiness drifting into his mind. _The morphine..._

"House, this is how things are. I just want you to be safe." He told him, defeated.

House didn't respond.

He heard the door click as Wilson left the room.


	4. The Game Goes On

**Chapter 4: The Game Goes On**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD._

* * *

House had drifted into a lazy half-sleep when he realized he had completely forgotten about his applicants. Shot or not, House still had a game to run, and a team to select.

He forced himself to sit up, and realized that none of his personal possessions were here. His pager, cell phone, clothes, they were all sitting on his blood soaked bathroom floor. Well, it probably wasn't blood soaked any more since the crime scene techs had processed it, but nonetheless, he had no way to contact anyone.

He sighed, realizing that until Cuddy or Wilson graced him with their presence, he wouldn't be able to get in touch with the applicants-

Just as he was about to settle back down to sleep, the door opened to his room, and Cole and Kutner walked in. They stood over him, their eyes wide.

"House..." Cole said, his eyes raking over him. "Wilson just told us what happened."

"Are you okay?" Kutner asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"You know what they say. Two bullets a day keeps the doctor at bay." He responded, pushing himself up yet again despite the painful ache in his shoulder. It was almost as bad as his leg pain. His foot throbbed miserably as well, but it wasn't nearly as bad. He hedged a guess that the bullet had passed cleanly between his ankle and his Achilles, otherwise he would have been in the OR to have his tendon repaired. Regardless, it still hurt like a bitch. The sting in his ear from where the bullet nicked it just added the cherry on top to his pain sundae.

"House, the cop outside said they're coming by to talk with us later in the day. Do you really think one of us did it?" Cole asked, arching his eyebrow.

"No. I don't." House replied quickly. "Cops just want to check out everything. They're interviewing my old team, too."

"Do you think one of them did it for revenge?" Kutner asked, seeming excited in spite of himself. House gave him a withering look.

"This isn't a conspiracy by my ex-employees to ice me." House said edgily. "My ex-employees being a group you will join if you don't go down to the ER and find us a case." Cole gaped at him.

"House, you were shot-"

"Were you?" House interrupted. "The game's still on, I still need a new team. The only difference is for the next week we're holding differentials in my hospital room instead of the classroom. You two go find a case, get the others, and be back here in an hour." He ordered. They continued to stand and stare at him. "Go!" He said loudly.

After they left, House's foul mood lifted slightly. At least he would have a case to keep his mind off of things. Like the fact that someone wanted to murder him. You know, small stuff.

House laid his head back, wishing he had made one of his lackeys run by his apartment and pick up his stuff. _I'll just have Wilson do it later..._

That was if Wilson came back and visited him. Well, he wasn't wondering whether Wilson would visit again. Wilson's own guilty conscience and narcissistic need to be needed would be driving him back to House's room eventually, the question was how long it would take.

Wilson didn't really have any reason to be mad at him. Couldn't he understand that some things you just can't put aside? Tritter had made House and Wilson's lives total hell. He was not so quick to forget like Wilson was. He narrowly escaped being sent to jail for ten years, Wilson had to give up his practice, and the team was interrogated left, right and center.

The fact that there was nothing House could do about it without risking his own life did nothing but enrage him further. Generally his pride came before his instincts for self preservation, but in this case it really was a toss up between his life or his dignity. And without his life, he obviously couldn't have the latter.

So no matter what, he was screwed.

"House?"

House had been so intent on his own thoughts that he had notice Cameron walk into the room, carrying a tray of food. House blinked blearily up at her.

"I brought you lunch. Reuben, dry, no pickles, and a mocha." She said, smiling. She was dressed in her pale purple scrubs, and her blond hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. She flipped up his table on his bed and set down the food, then lowered herself into the chair next to his bed.

"I wondered how long it would take you to come and weep beside my sickbed." House said as he gratefully picked up the Reuben. He was starving, having not eaten since lunch the day before.

"I thought I'd give you time to rest." She said, looking him over. "You don't look so hot."

"What are you talking about? Hospital gowns bring out the blue in my eyes." He replied, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth. Cameron raised an eyebrow at him but continued to smile.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, the worry he had expected to hear finally creeping into her voice. House rolled his eyes noticeably as he took a sip of his mocha.

"I feel like I got shot three times yesterday." He answered. Cameron furrowed her brow.

"I'd ask if you wanted me to up your morphine, but even if you felt fine you'd tell me to."

"Mistrusting the poor shooting victim?" House asked in a mockingly pitiful voice as he put a hand to his chest. "Words can hurt, you know." He winced with the movement in his shoulder and lowered his arm.

"Even you can't hide your pain that well." She told him. Her smile had dropped. "House-"

"No, I don't know who tried to kill me." He responded tiredly through another bite of his sandwich.

"I'm guessing you've already spoken to the police?" She asked. House nodded.

"They're going to want to interview you. And to answer your next question, _no_, I do not think you tried to kill me."

"I wasn't going to ask that. You're not stupid, you would never think I'd want you dead." She said, shifting in her chair. "So you don't have the slightest inkling as to who might have done it?"

"The only person who I can think of who would want me dead that badly is working my case, so, once again, I don't know who tried to kill me." He said, a note of bitterness edging into his voice. He finished his Reuben, and quickly began to drain his mocha. Cameron gave him a questioning look.

"What do you mean?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Tritter is working my case."

"_What!?_" She burst out, most likely louder than she meant to.

"Yep." House said. He then noisily drained the last dregs of his mocha and plopped it down on his tray.

"Didn't he get fired or demoted after you walked?" She asked incredulously.

"Apparently his superiors admired his wherewithal. He got promoted to the Princeton PD-FBI Joint Violent Crime Taskforce, which is handling my case because of my notoriety, and because the bullets that were fired at me came from a military grade sniper." He informed her in a monotone.

"Isn't there someone else who could take your case?"

"I don't really get to pick and choose who's protecting my life, apparently." He said irritably. "Wilson says they're the best. It looks like I'll have to trust his judgment."

"There's a first time for everything." Cameron quipped, half smiling. "I don't like this." She said quietly. "Tritter's a bastard." House raised an eyebrow.

"Awfully strong words for someone who can even find good in insufferable clinic patients."

"He screwed up all our lives, yours in particular. You didn't do anything wrong, other than piss off the wrong person." She explained. "What he did was wrong, forgive me if I hold a grudge." House merely nodded. He was about to respond when his door opened to reveal his applicants. Kutner, Cole, Thirteen, Brennan, Henry, Taub, and Amber filed in, looking awkwardly between Cameron and House. Cameron gave House a pointed look after her eyes darted to the patient files in each of the doctor's hands.

"You're keeping up the game?" She asked, looking not entirely surprised by slightly exasperated.

"How long have you known me?" He asked, smirking. Cameron gave him a jaded look as she took his now empty tray and trash away.

"I'll talk to you later." She said as she walked past the fellows. "Good luck!" She called over her shoulder, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. House smiled brightly at the assembly of doctors.

"Welcome back kids. It's time for round three."

* * *

House wasn't surprised when Wilson walked into his room later that day. The clock on the wall said it was a quarter to five. Wilson stood in the doorway, examining him.

"Hey." He said, giving him a thin smile that didn't reach his brown eyes.

"Hey." House replied, looking up from his patient file.

"I saw your applicants running around. You're still keeping the game up." It wasn't a question. "Who're you treating?" He asked, plopping down into the chair next to House's bed.

"Twenty four year old funeral cosmetician who's seeing dead people and having seizures. Very interesting." He told him, biting the inside of his lip and looking over his friend. He looked... drained.

"What do you think she has?"

"Tumor in her temporal lobe or toxic chemicals from the funeral home. Bosley, Dark Religious Nut and Overly Excited Former Foster Kid are checking out the latter, Mini-Stud and Cutthroat Bitch are giving her an MRI, and Thirteen's running a blood panel." He explained dismissively.

"Nice nicknames. You know your staff very well." Wilson said sarcastically. "What about Brennan?" He asked.

"You mean Grumpy?" House asked. Wilson gave him a tired look.

"Yes."

"No clue. Probably running the EEG." Wilson nodded at this.

"Glad you're keeping busy. Well, as busy as you can be in a hospital bed." He conceded, motioning towards House. House shrugged, waiting for him to go on. Wilson sighed heavily.

"House, I'm sorry that things are the way they are. I understand you're upset about Tritter being on your case, and I get why, he's an ass. But he's _good_. The faster they catch whoever did this, the faster things can go back to normal."

"I know." He responded quietly. "I just hate feeling useless." Instead of reassuring House that he wasn't useless, Wilson nodded.

"I feel useless, too." He agreed. There was a long moment of silence between the two men. House looked into Wilson's eyes, and was suddenly very, very happy he was going to be staying the night. In spite of himself, throughout the day each noise caused him to jump and swing his head around, expecting to see a bullet embedded in the wall... he felt vulnerable.

He felt _scared_.

"Do you want me to go grab some of your stuff from your apartment?" Wilson asked finally, leaning forward in his seat. House nodded.

"Was the stuff in the bathroom taken as evidence?" House asked.

"They already processed all your stuff while they were there. The only real evidence they could find were the bullets. They left the rest of your stuff alone after they cleaned up."

"Good. Grab my pager and cell phone while you're there." House said. Wilson nodded and stood up, heading for the door.

"I'll be back soon." He added in an odd voice as he exited the room.

* * *

Wilson arrived and parked in front of House's apartment on Baker Street. Slowly getting out, he plodded through the pouring rain which had been falling for the past two days into the building just as the barely visible sun began to edge slowly below the horizon.

He trotted up to House's apartment, shaking the scared rabbit feeling he had. He was going to the scene of the crime, where House had been shot...

He was frightened.

Shoving his hand into his pocket, he grasped the extra key to House's apartment that he had given him and pushed it into the lock.

Stepping into House's apartment, it felt strangely unlived in, even though House had just been there yesterday. There was no half empty bottle of bourbon on the table, no discarded take out in the trash, no empty pill bottles sitting around...

It was disconcerting.

With a shaky sigh Wilson walked into the bathroom, grabbing House's pager from his jeans and his cell phone from the floor. Once he had retrieved the two items, he stared at the multitude of bullet holes in the tile. He shivered.

_He could have died..._

Shaking himself, he exited the bathroom and grabbed the first couple novels on House's bookshelf and threw them into his rucksack, which he had left sitting next to the door. After a moment's indecision, he also threw in his laptop and a few non-pornographic magazines.

Lastly, he decided to grab a set of clothes for House to wear when he was discharged. He paused outside his bedroom door. There was a gash in the doorframe that hadn't been there last time he had been in the apartment...

_House must of just slammed the door to hard. _He assured himself. _Stop acting like a child._

Taking a deep breath, Wilson pushed the door open. As he walked in, his nostrils were assaulted by a cloying, sickly sweet smell. A scent that was all too familiar for someone who had dealt with terminal cancer for the better part of his life.

It was the smell of death.

Turning to House's bed, he saw a large mass on the covers, illuminated faintly by the dull gray light filtering from the outside. With a violently shaking hand, Wilson flicked on the light.

Brennan's blood soaked corpse stared at him, a knife plunged into his heart, pinning a small note to his chest.

His heart beating extremely fast, Wilson stepped forward on legs that were barely supporting him. He noticed now that Brennan had been lashed to the bed.

Wilson broke into a cold sweat. He struggled not to breathe, not wanting to let the sickening smell of blood and death overwhelm him.

He read the note on Brennan's chest.

"_HE WILL NOT BE THE LAST_"


	5. Cut Your Losses

**Chapter 5: Cut Your Losses**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company_**_._**

* * *

Demetrius remained impassive as he observed James Wilson's reaction to the dead body on House's bed. The man had flung himself backwards against the wall, clutching his throat for a short moment before retching onto the carpet, falling to his hands and knees. He had hoped it would be House who would discover Brennan's corpse, in whatever state of decay it might be in. However, mentally scarring his best friend was sufficiently effective.

Wilson pushed himself up, trembling, and pulled out his cell phone. Demetrius rose from his crouching position and pocketed his binoculars. He needed to flee before the police arrived. He took the same root he had taken the day before when he had sniped House through his bathroom window, jumping the gap between buildings and taking the fire escape down, his footsteps covered by the continuous patter of rain.

As he ducked in the warm cover of his car and started it up, his thoughts drifted back to the conversation with his client the night before.

_They stood together, meeting discretely at the university fountain, as was their usual rendezvous point._

_"You failed."_

_"It is a minor setback. I, of course, will understand if you wish to dock payment. But need I remind you that you did not specify how you wanted this done, or how quickly?"_

_"Yes, yes. I remember my instructions. However, I'm not going to dock your pay... because I've changed my mind about something. Your mistake opens up a unique avenue, Karma."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Originally, my intent was to just have you kill House. But in reality, with a man like House... that's not so bad of a punishment. For true vengeance, we need to... step it up."_

_"Step it up how?"_

_"You are willing to get your hands dirtier, then?"_

_"It has never stopped me before."_

_"Good."_

_"So, what has changed?"_

_"I don't want you to kill Dr. House just yet. We're going to wait for that. Before you kill him... I want you to destroy him."_

_"Ah."_

_"I don't care how you do it, but I want him on his knees begging for death by the time you've finished with him. I don't care if you kill any spares. If it'll hurt House, do it."_

_"It will be done."_

_"Is there anything else you need?"_

_"No..."_

_"What?"_

_"I tend not to ask for reasons, but the nature of this... intrigues me. What did Dr. House do to you that made you want to exact such vicious revenge?"_

_"Heh... I was told you didn't ask questions, Karma."_

"_I do not. I am just curious."_

"_Perhaps I'll tell you when this is all over. Until then, get to work."_

_And with that, Demetrius and the client parted ways into the darkening sky, his mind buzzing with his new mission._

Back in the now, Demetrius could not help but feel slightly disturbed by the turn of events. He was not a monster. Brennan had done nothing to deserve his wrath, no more than his future victims would. But, he had a job. And he would do the job. There was no room for betrayal in this business. You did what you were told, you did it quietly, and that was the end of it.

He was a man who understood necessity.

* * *

Wilson was barely coherent when the police arrived. He had managed to make his way back to House's living room and sit himself down on the couch. He stared blankly at his hands. For a man who had seen so much death, this unsettled him in a way that he felt he would never be the same. He had seen death by the hand of God, the fate of the universe, what have you... never had he seen cold-blooded murder.

He felt as though Brennan's blank, glassy eyes were boring into the back of his head through solid walls, which he knew was ridiculous. He resisted the urge to vomit again, his mouth already raw and tasting of bile, and his throat still burning.

At first just average Princeton PD guys showed up, two normal responders. When he explained what had happened, they called the FBI field office. The cops were told not to question him and to just stand guard until Agent Kama Kaczmarek arrived on the scene.

She was there within minutes of the phone call. She walked in, and despite the fact that there was a dead body just ten feet away, Wilson could not help but notice her beauty.

She was tall and blond, and the way she held herself spoke of grace. She walked through the threshold, clad in an FBI blazer and a white blouse. Her hazel eyes swept over the apartment before landing on him. She stepped forward, looking down on him.

"Dr. Wilson. What's happened?" She asked. Wilson shook his head, forcing himself off of the couch. His head felt light, and he had to steady himself on the edge of the couch.

"There's been a murder. One of House's new fellows." His words sounded hoarse and faint. She grasped his shoulder, undoubtedly because he looked like he was going to pass out. In spite of their situation, he felt a tingle up his arm.

"Where?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"The bedroom." He replied, edging slightly away from the couch. She nodded and headed towards the bedroom, her eyes darting to the gouge mark next to the doorframe. Kama, seeming to take a deep breath, plunged into the room.

* * *

No matter how many times she was confronted by human atrocity, Kama would never fully accustom herself to it.

The familiar cloying scent dulled her senses and caused her stomach to do flips of revulsion. Bracing herself, she pressed on to the bed. She could see immediately that Dr. Wilson had disrupted the scene. She breathed heavily through her nose. If Wilson's finger prints were on the murder weapon, he would automatically become a suspect and it had the possibility of destroying potential evidence.

The note lay on the floor, where she guessed Wilson had dropped it. Thinly written in congealed blood were the words, "He will not be the last."

Moving forward to the bed, she examined Brennan. She hedged a guess that Brennan had been dead for roughly six to eight hours, judging by the rigor mortis. Brennan was dressed in hospital scrubs, and lack of bruises and lacerations suggested that struggle was minimum. Upon closer inspection, she saw only one mark on his body other than the chest wound, and that was a dark bruise on his forehead.

Her mind flashing with the gouge on the doorway, a scenario began to form in his mind. Brennan had been knocked unconscious, most likely thrown into a car trunk, brought to Dr. House's apartment. He must have woken him upon reaching the apartment, so he could walk in with him instead of dragging or carrying him, thus rousing suspicion. He probably had a gun at his back. Once inside the apartment and heading to the bedroom, Brennan assumed the worst and started to fight back, so he was bludgeoned against the door frame. Forensics would be able to tell her more later. She also guessed by the lack of blood anywhere else in the apartment other than the bed that Brennan had been killed there.

The wrists and ankles being tied to the bed posts would suggest a crime of a sexual nature, but it didn't match the motive of the cold and calculated knife to the heart, and clash heavily with the bullets-from-a-distance approach on Dr. House. Eric would be able to see if there were any signs of forced penetration when he examined Brennan's corpse, though she doubted they would find any.

She sighed. She did not want to move anything or touch anything else, afraid she could disturb evidence. She would have a team over here processing the scene within the hour. She pulled out her phone and speed-dialed Shane. Within moments, her twin's voice came over the phone.

"Kaczmarek." He answered.

"It's me. We've got another vic." She told him, deciding not to beat around the bush.

"What? Where?"

"House's apartment. One of his fellows is dead, stabbed through the heart and tied to his bed." She heard Shane curse under his breath.

"Son of a bitch. This just got more complicated. You call Wayne yet?"

"Not yet. We need to though. It's clear that everyone he's with is in danger, the killer left a note."

"What did it say?" He asked. She heard Shane typing furiously away at something.

"'There will be more.'" Although Kama had put no inflection in her voice, it still sounded ominous.

"...this doesn't make any sense. Not from a profiling point of view. Before it was cold, distant. The killer wasn't personal with the victim. There didn't seem to be any malevolence, any rage. This... this has rage written all over it in black sharpie."

"Yeah, or in blood."

* * *

House watched the TV in the corner, glad for something to do. There was a marathon of the Real Housewives of New Jersey on, and it at least had occupied him while he wait for his applicants to get back from their grave-digging excursion. Well, all of his applicants except for Cole and Brennan. Cole had to go home to watch the kid and Brennan... well, he honestly didn't have a clue where Brennan was. Probably filing a sexual harassment complaint.

He yawned, stretching his good arm. He contemplated taking a nap, but he had been nodding on and off throughout the day, and he was beginning to feel restless. Cuddy had brought him a medical cane earlier for when he needed to used the bathroom, so he decided it was time to try and walk.

It was not easy. He swung his legs out of the bed, causing both his thigh and ankle to send a jolt of pain up his leg. He groaned as he placed most of his weight on his good leg, and stood up. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall. He grabbed the cane and switched it, for once, to the proper side. Hobbling and wincing, he made his way very, very slowly to the bathroom, clutching his portable IV and feeling like an invalid all the way.

Finally, he managed to reach the bathroom and relieve himself after what he deemed to be a five minute effort. After shaking himself dry, he forced himself to the sink, which he leaned against to catch his breath before washing his hands.

"Damn it..."

He looked up in the mirror, and considered his reflection. His thin brown hair was untidy as usual, and his gray streak seemed more pronounced than it was typically. His bright blue eyes were bloodshot, unsurprisingly, but aside from that, he looked just the same as ever, full of holes or not.

He sighed as he turned on the sink and quickly rinsed his hands. Turning them back off, he was dreading the return trip to his bed.

He was struggling his way back when Wayne and Wilson walked through the door, wearing grave expressions. Wilson's eyes widened when he saw House up and walking back towards his bed. He quickly darted over to where House stood and went to help him, but he batted his hands away.

"It's four feet. I can handle it." He growled, continuing his way back to his bed. Wilson sighed and dropped House's rucksack on the ground.

"I... went to your apartment."

"Yes, I guessed that, since before you left, you said you were going to my apartment." House replied in a strained and irritated voice.

"House..."

"_What_?" He snapped as he finally reached the side of his bed and heaved himself over the side, collapsing onto it with visible relief as his cane clattered to the side.

"Dr. House, there's been another-" Wayne began, but Wilson cut him off.

"Brennan's dead." He told him bluntly. House's head jerked up, his eyes meeting Wilson's. Now that he got a good look at his best friend, he looked like he was going to either be violently sick or collapse. Saying he looked shaken would be the understatement of the year.

"In my apartment?" House asked, connecting the dots in his head. Well, this explained why Brennan had missed the last differential.

"Yes." It was Wayne who answered. "He was murdered. A knife through his heart, and a note pinned to his chest."

"What did it say?" House asked, feeling a slow, hollow feeling fill his chest.

"'There will be more.'" Wilson choked. He ran a hand down his face, and Wilson looked like he had put on ten years since he had walked out of House's room an hour and a half ago.

"He's targeting the people around me." House stated.

"It appears so." Wayne agreed. "We'll be assigning permanent guards to each member of your team, and have police protection outside their houses at all times. It seems that we're dealing with more than we thought."

House's thoughts were racing. Whoever was after him... they had killed Brennan to get to him. How many more people would die because of him? What had he done to make this mysterious murderer hate him so much?

Had House's own actions sealed Brennan's fate? Albeit, he hadn't even liked the young doctor, but he didn't like anyone, so was that really saying anything?

House didn't know how to respond.

"Do you have any leads?" Wilson asked, turning to Wayne.

"We'll have more evidence once forensics finishes processing the scene. Hopefully we'll have something to go on from there." Wayne informed them quietly.

House nodded, his eyes glassy.

"I just thought we should inform you of the situation. I'll be outside if you need me." Wayne said, taking this as his cue to leave. As the door closed behind him, Wilson seated himself next to House.

"You were the one who found his body." House stated. Wilson nodded solemnly.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." House said, the words unfamiliar on his tongue, but he deemed them absolutely necessary.

"It's not your-"

"It obviously is." House interrupted him. "People don't want to kill other people just for fun. Well, some do, but it's clear whoever's doing this has a motive for wanting to kill me and apparently everyone I associate with. I did something that caused this."

"No matter what you did, it doesn't justify someone shooting you and killing Brennan. You can't blame yourself for this, House." Wilson said. House let out a bitter laugh.

"Yes. It's that easy."

"You never feel guilt, why pick now to get emotions?"

"BECAUSE I KILLED HIM!" House shouted, furious at Wilson, furious at himself. "Or I might as well have! Something I did instigated this! You can't just rationalize this away!"

Wilson sat quietly next to him, not responded. House breathed heavily, fuming. What was he going to do? Who would die next? His heart clenched as he considered the fact that this murderer could get past the police detail... he could kill Cameron, Chase, Cuddy, Wilson...

House's breath caught in his throat.

_What if Wilson is next?_


	6. Duck and Cover

**Chapter 6: Duck and Cover**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD._

* * *

The applicants crowded around House's bed, all looking shocked and terrified. They were all wearing mud-covered scrubs, having just returned to the hospital from their grave-robbing excursion. Cole was the only clean one out of the group, looking disgruntled. His toddler son sat on his shoulders, giggling and playing with his hair. He had protested when House had demanded he get his ass back to the hospital, but he had convinced the young Mormon that this was a dire emergency.

They all were looking at him expectantly. He swallowed. Wilson hovered in the corner, pinching his upper lip between his thumb and pointer finger, and staring at the ground. He knew his friend was still deeply disturbed from the scene he had stumbled upon earlier in the day.

_That was meant for me. He shouldn't have had to see that._

Before, he had been scared for his life. Now, he was scared for everyone's lives.

And he was also angry.

House wasn't one to be overly concerned about his health... someone wanting him dead, yeah, it sucked, but this murderer had killed Brennan, who admittedly he hadn't cared for, but he had also hurt Wilson.

He didn't like it when people hurt Wilson.

The killer had made this personal.

"There's something you guys should know." House began, his voice low and serious. Just the fact that he was taking something seriously seemed to scare the applicants. He saw Thirteen's eyes widen and Kutner's brow crease with worry. He closed his eyes for a long moment, wondering how to go about this. _Bluntly, how else? _"Brennan's dead. Murdered, specifically. Murdered by the same nut job who tried to kill me yesterday."

They all stared at him, shock written clearly on their face. None of them spoke. He decided to continue.

"He was found tied to my bed with a knife through his heart." He decided to leave out the note, not wanting to completely scare the shit out of them. "The police are of the belief that you're all in danger from being involved with me. They'll be police guarding your house whenever your home, and armed guards escorting you wherever you go, in the hospital or otherwise." More silence.

"If any of you want to high tail it away from PPTH as fast as you can, I'll understand." He said finally.

"Wait, is the game over?" Amber asked, her eyebrows shooting up. _Of course. _Murder passed over Cutthroat Bitch like it was nothing. The most important thing was getting the job. This was another competitor out of the way. _Maybe I should rename her Psychopathic Bitch_. He thought dismally.

"I'm working under the assumption you're all going to leave." House stated. Obviously he would jump to that conclusion. They'd only been working with him for three weeks and already they were all in danger of losing their lives. Not exactly a occupational hazard you want to take on.

"I'm not leaving." Taub stated, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Rachel and I are safer here with police protection than somewhere else without it. Plus..." He paused. "I gave up my practice for this job." House considered the short man. Smirking inwardly, he decided at some point very, _very_ soon he was going to find out exactly why the prestigious plastic surgeon ditched his five star job to come be a lackey to a mad scientist.

"I'm not leaving either." Thirteen said quietly, not offering any other explanation (unsurprisingly).

"Same." Kutner added. He wasn't surprised by Kutner, he guessed that he'd still be jumping for the job even if he was huddled behind the reception desk dodging hand grenades.

"I'm staying too. This is my dream job. And like he said, we're as safe here as any other place we could go." Henry said, shrugging his shoulders as if to say "We're all going to die sometime."

House looked to Amber and Cole, who had yet to answer.

"Do you even need to ask me?" Amber asked. House smiled grimly.

"Wouldn't dream of it. What about you, Big Love? You and the rug rat going to stick around in Princeton?" Cole seemed conflicted. He lifted his son off of his shoulders and held him in his arms instead. The little boy looked just like him.

"I'll stay." He said quietly. "But I'm going to send Isaac-" He broke off, lowering his eyes. House lifted an eyebrow.

"Send him where?" He asked. Cole pursed his lips.

"Oh my God!" Kutner exclaimed. "You think one of us could be the killer!" He pointed at Cole.

"I- I don't know who the killer is. I don't want to take any risks with my son's life." He said evasively.

"Dude, you totally think one of us did it." Kutner said, shaking his head.

"It has to be someone who knows House personally, who knows him well enough to want him dead. That's not very many people. It basically narrows it down to me, you guys, Cuddy, and House's old team. I don't blame you for not wanting to trust anyone." Wilson said tiredly from the loveseat.

"You're forgetting Tritter." House grumbled.

"House, it wasn't Tritter. He's got an alibi for Brennan's murder. The ME said he was killed at roughly noon today. Tritter was in here talking to us when the murder occurred." Wilson explained.

"Who's Tritter?" Taub asked.

"One of the idiot cops that's guarding our asses." House replied. "You're all staying then?" He asked, searching the faces of his six applicants. They all nodded slowly. House scratched his ear absent-mindedly. "Alright... well. We do have a patient still. Big Love, grab a cop and go drop your kid of wherever he needs to be." Cole bowed his head. Just as he turned to leave, House stopped him. "_Don't_ take Tritter. Take Wayne if you can."

"Or Kama." Wilson added. House glanced at him strangely. Interesting how quickly he saw the hot FBI agent's name. Very interesting indeed. Cole nodded again and left the room.

"So, how'd the grave digging go?" House asked, happy to change subjects, but feeling uneasy that things could go on as normal when there were large red targets painted on all of their backs.

"Good. We got the brain piece." Kutner informed him. "Want us to go run it for Creutzfeldt-Jakob?"

"No, I want you to skip rope with it." House responded edgily. "Go shower off, then get to the lab." He ordered. They all nodded obediently and scurried out of the room. With a close of the door, House and Wilson were alone.

"They all stayed." Wilson observed.

"It's interesting." House commented offhandedly. He laid his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "You staying in here again tonight?" House asked in spite of himself. Although he would never let Wilson know, he privately hoped he was. He didn't want to be alone in here, at night... not now. Wilson just looked at House, brown eyes shining. He took a long time to respond, much longer than usual.

"Yeah." He finally said.

There should have been a witty response from House, but for once, there wasn't.

* * *

Cole drove down the main drag out to his sister's home in Mount Holyoake through the still pouring rain, anxiously checking the mirrors every few seconds, like a nervous tic. What he was expecting to see behind him, he didn't know. An unmarked cop car followed him closely. Agent Wayne had left Agent Kaczmarek (Shane, not Kama) in charge of House's room and had decided to accompany him, following him closely behind. It did little to settle his nerves. They could get easily separated in highway traffic.

He would have left that job in a heart beat if wouldn't have been for Isaac. He could not give up his only source of income. His unemployment was out, if he didn't get this job... he had no clue what he was going to do. He'd rather be in the hospital, guarded by police and making money for his family (small as it was) than be in his home, waiting for some mysterious killer to snap his neck and do who knows what to his son. He resented House for the danger he was facing, and for dragging all of them into this, voluntarily or not.

He puffed out a breath._ Relax. _He told himself. _You're almost there. Fifteen minutes tops and Jen will be cooing over Isaac and I can head back. No worries._

He was right. The rest of the drive was uneventful. He dropped of Isaac with his sister, thanking her profusely for agreeing last minute to watch him. He explained the situation to her, and explained that an undercover cop car would be sitting across the street from the house until this all cleared up. She was worried. He didn't blame her. He hugged her goodbye, kissed his son goodbye, and with the familiar anguish in his heart he felt every time he left his son, Cole headed back out into the night. He didn't know where Wayne was parked. Somewhere close, no doubt. The dark seemed suffocating, threatening as he stepped outside.

He walked quickly down the sidewalk and to the curb, turning to walk up the block to where he had parked his car. He searched as best he could with the aid of the streetlights to find Wayne's car, but saw no sign of it. Trepidation seeped through him and he began quickening his pace, wanting nothing more than to reach his car.

His heart slowed slightly as he place a hand on the door. Exhaling with relief, he opened his door and started up the car. Fixing his hands on the wheel, he was preparing to pull out when he suddenly felt hot breath on his ear and an icy blade at his throat.

"Moving would not be a wise decision." The voice whispered.

"Oh-okay." Cole choked, icy fear racing through him. The killer was here... in his car. How did he get in? More importantly, what the devil was he going to do to him!?

Suddenly, a more pressing thought filled his head..

_What is he going to do to my son!?_

"You're going to pick up your phone. You are going to call Agent Wayne. Tell him you have decided to stay with your sister. You will not be returning to Princeton. You do not want police protection. You will be convincing." Although the voice was barely a whisper, he thought he could detect a very slight Eastern European accent. He filed it away in his memory. Shaking, Cole pulled out his phone. Dialed Wayne's number. He picked up.

"Wayne." He answered.

"Hey, it's me. I think I'm going to stay here with my sister." It was an enormous challenge to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Oh." Wayne said, seeming surprised for a moment before composing himself. "Alright then. I'm parked just around the corner, so I can stay here until the protection detail arrives-"

"My sister's refused police protection." He said, trying to sound frustrated, but he believed he ended up sounding slightly hysterical. "Tried to talk to her, but she won't here. I guess we'll be okay here, though. You're the only one who knows Isaac and I are here."

"Are you sure you can't convince her? I really think it's in your family's best interest."

"So do I, but she won't budge. Thanks for the escort here, Agent Wayne."

"No problem, Doc. Stay safe. If anything changes, let me know." Wayne responded, sounding genuinely worried. Cole hung up his phone, any hope of escape dropping like a lead weight in his stomach. His only connection to anyone who didn't have a knife to his throat was gone.

"Roll down the window." The killer ordered. He obeyed. "Throw your phone out of the window." Cole did so. "Now, you will drive into the alley three blocks from here next to the video store. You will make no attempts to escape or try anything. If so, I will kill you." He felt the knife press back hard into his throat. He gasped as it drew a thin bloody slit on his jugular. The killer was letting him know he was serious.

Hazy with fear, he drove to the location, looking around desperately, hoping beyond hope that some passerby at eight thirty at night would see him and think, "Maybe there's a murderer in that car with him!"

No such luck. They arrived at the alley.

"Get out." The killer ordered. "You will not run." Cole nodded as the knife was drawn away from his throat. He exited the car. His feet hit the cold pavement, and now he felt a new sensation.

A gun being pressed into the small of his back. He swallowed, trying to fight back tears of panic and fear.

"Walk forward until I say stop." He continued down the alley way on legs that he was surprised could hold him. After walking roughly ten feet, he stopped upon the man's order (he could tell now it was a man). "I really am quite sorry about this." He said, removing the gun from Cole's back and replacing it at the back of his neck. With a hand he guided him towards a wall before slamming him face first into it.

"I am especially sorry about this." He said. Suddenly, a burning hot pain seared in his spine. There had been no gun shot. He fell to the ground, writhing. _What the hell!?_

Barely coherent through the pain, he fumbled a hand at his back. _A knife?_

He couldn't make out the next thing the killer said. He felt the man's hand on him now, lifting him to his knees. The gun was on the back of his neck now.

"I won't make you suffer long, do not worry." The small sound of a safety being clicked off. Frantically, Cole whispered prayers through the sheet of pained tears.

_Heavenly Father, thou art in heaven..._


	7. Heavy Rain

**Chapter 7: Heavy Rain**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!_

* * *

Agent Wayne hung up with Cole, feeling troubled. If it had been his son in danger, he wouldn't care about anything other than his safety. Nothing would have stopped him from making sure they received police protection.

It was suspicious, and when Wayne heard a car roar to life, he decided to investigate. Waiting exactly ten seconds, he started his car and pulled around the corner.

Cole was pulling away from the curb.

Odd.

Where was he going?

Wayne began to connect the dots in his head, and he didn't like the picture that they formed. He had liked Dr. Cole. He seemed like a good man...

But right now, he couldn't help but wonder if he had found their killer. He didn't have an alibi for Brennan's death, and he was unaccounted for when Dr. Wilson found the body. Had he been watching from afar, returning to the scene of the crime as so many criminals did?

Doing standard police procedure, he tailed Cole's car while staying at least three car lengths behind. The rain was still pouring down hard, and there was a surprising amount of traffic for this time of night. He hoped it helped cover his car. He didn't want to spook him. He supposed the doctor could have just been heading home to grab his things, but if he was, he was taking the long way. He had skipped the closest entrance to the interstate.

The car continued into the suburb, finally coming to stop in the alley beside a small video store. The store was closed.

Agent Wayne parked his car in a small alley between two homes across the street, where he doubted it would be noticed. Stepping out of his car, he drew his SIG, carefully flicking the safety off. His senses sharpened, and he seemed to take in every little detail as he quickly and silently made his way across the street. He hovered next to the corner of the video store. Gun in hand, he peered around the corner. He saw two dark figures. One wielding a gun, the other on his knees, a knife embedded in his spine, whimpering as the standing man pressed the gun to the back of his neck.

With almost inhuman speed, his twenty years of law enforcement kicked in and he jumped around the corner, bringing his gun up and firing off a shot.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one with good training. The assailant had turned just as Wayne had appeared, somehow sensing his presence.

The man was a good shot, Wayne realized, as he felt a hard impact in his shoulder and a warm spread of blood. He didn't feel it yet, but he would, he'd been shot before.

The killer wasn't the only one who had made his target. He saw the man stumble, gripping his leg. However, the man turned on his heel and pelted down the alley, apparently ignoring the bullet hole in his leg.

Chasing after someone five seconds after getting shot? Not fun, but necessary. He raced down the alley after him, noticing the man with the knife in his back was Cole. Ripping out his cell phone and still chasing after the man in black, he speed dialed Tritter.

"Tritter." He answered, sounding tired.

"Call Mount Holyoake PD. Get them to the video store on Bowers Street. Get an ambulance here too. No time to explain." He promptly hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. His feet pounded pavement, echoing eerily along with the raindrops in the otherwise quite evening.

The ground was soaked, causing him to slip as he chased the killer down another alley. The man lashed out with his leg and kicked over a trash can into Wayne's path, causing him to trip up. He quickly recovered, but when he looked forward the man was not there. Glancing around, he pointed his SIG up to see the man climbing the fire escape.

Cursing, he jumped on top of a dumpster and grabbed the bottom of the fire escape, pulling himself up with one arm. The other one was paining him sharply now, but he forced it out of his mind.

Racing up the fire escape steps after him, he focused every bit of energy on moving as fast as humanly possible. Reaching the zenith, he jumped onto the roof of the small pharmacy they were on top of. He saw the killer in the distance, jumping from roof top to roof top. He was already jumping the gap between the Hallmark and the video store they had begun at.

Wayne sprinted after him, ignoring the fear in his stomach as he jumped the three to five foot gap between buildings. The man was jumping off of the video store now to the ground twelve feet below, hitting the pavement and buckling. He heard sirens in the distance.

He jumped off of the Hallmark store, hitting the ground much more gracefully, although still jarring his ankles. He did have one advantage over this guy: he didn't have a bullet in his leg. Wayne continued to pursue him across the street. The man jumped a fence into someone's yard. Wayne followed suit. He was gaining on him. He knew the man could only get so far before his injured leg gave out.

Just as his feet touched ground after throwing himself over the fence, he felt another shock rip through his stomach. He hacked a cough and collapsed to the ground. He touched his stomach, bringing back a bloody hand.

"Dammit." He cursed not because he was in pain (because oh, he was) but because he knew that this was all the killer needed to get ahead and escape. Slipping on the grass, which was soaked with both blood and rain, he struggled to push himself up. However, when he squinted through the darkness, he saw no sign of the man. He sank back into the ground, breathing heavily. He heard the sirens much more clearly now. They had reached the video store, and hopefully Cole. He knew they would not be able to hear him scream over the continuous thunder of heavy raindrops, so he elected to call Tritter on his cell phone.

Dialing his number with shaky, bloody hands, he heard his comrade's voice come over the phone for a second time.

"Wayne? Where the hell are you?"

"Across the street... green house, in the yard... tell them to go there..." He was getting dizzy from lack of blood. He knew he was going to faint soon.

"Are you hurt?" Tritter asked.

"Yeah... shot. Twice. Stomach and shoulder." Tritter swore loudly.

"I'll tell them over the police radio. Hold tight." He said, sounding worried.

"Alright..." He let the phone slip out of his hand. Gazing up at the starless sky, he felt his vision fade to darkness.

Just as the blackness completely took him, he thought he heard a thunder clap in the distance.

* * *

Kama stared intently at Dr. Foreman, trying to discern whether the young doctor was telling her the truth or not. She had called New York Mercy earlier in the day to explain the situation, but they had said that he'd been recently fired. Getting his cell number, she called the man himself, and Foreman had agreed to meet with her later that night at his home, which was still in Princeton. It was nine now, unusually late for an interview, but then again doctors had odd hours.

She had explained the situation in complete detail to Dr. Foreman, who only knew of House's shooting from one Allison Cameron, one of House's ex-fellows that she hadn't gotten around to interview.

Now she was getting down to the meet of the matter. She told him that anyone who worked for House or who associated with him in anyway was considered a suspect. He had bristled, saying that anyone who thought he would try and kill House was a moron. She said she just needed to know his whereabouts yesterday when House had been shot, and today around noon.

"Yesterday, I don't have an alibi. I was at home, alone. Noon today, I was at lunch with Dr. Cuddy." He shared, sounding irritated.

"Dr. Cuddy? The Dean of Medicine at PPTH?"

"Yes." He replied impatiently. "She wants me to take my old job back. We discussed it over lunch at a little short order place called Luanne's. You can confirm both of our stories with the waitress there."

"Alright." Kama said, writing the information on her notepad. "Now, Dr. Foreman-" She was interrupted by her phone ringing. She checked the caller ID. Tritter. _Crap. _"I'm sorry, can you excuse me for just a moment? I need to take this call." She explained apologetically. Foreman shrugged. She picked up the phone and stood up, walking towards the kitchen so the call could be private.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, Detective." She told Tritter as she picked up the phone.

"In the middle of what?" He asked sharply. She had to admit, she didn't get along terribly well with Tritter. She personally thought that he was not only a misogynist, but also a condescending prick. She kept her opinions to herself, however. When you worked on a law enforcement team, you had to be able to operate together.

And she could. She just didn't have to like it.

"Interviewing Dr. Foreman. He doesn't have an alibi for House's shooting." She explained.

"Yeah, well, he's got an alibi right now, doesn't he?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" She asked carefully.

"Wayne's been shot. Killer kidnapped Cole and was about to blow his brains out when Wayne showed up. Nailed the perp in the leg, but the guy still managed to shoot Wayne in the shoulder and run away. Wayne chased him up and down the neighborhood, but the guy shot him again in the stomach when he started gaining. Wayne's lost a pint of blood and Cole's got a knife sticking out of his spine. We're shipping them down to PPTH. They need to stay under police protection, and we've already got people there looking out for the members of his team that haven't been attacked yet." He explained quickly. Kama's jaw hung open.

"Is Wayne going to be okay?" She asked.

"They don't know yet. I'm waiting for them at the ER bay in Princeton. I suggest you get down here." Kama nodded, but then realized he couldn't see her.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." She promised, hanging up the phone. She walked back into Foreman's sitting room, where the black doctor was waiting for her. "Dr. Foreman, I don't think it's necessary for this interview to continue." She informed him. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"There's been another attack. Another one of Dr. House's new applicants has been injured, and one of our agents has been shot." She said in a somber voice. She hoped desperately that Wayne was alright. He was like a big brother to her and Shane... she didn't want to lose him. Foreman's eyes widened. "Dr. Foreman, you mentioned Dr. Cuddy offered you your job back?" He jerked his head in affirmation. "I suggest you take it back. There'll be police protecting Princeton Plainsboro around the clock. It's the safest place for you to be."

"You think I'll be a target?" He asked. She nodded.

"I think anyone who's ever been involved with Dr. House will be in danger." Foreman sighed.

"I'll think about it." He said finally.

"We'll be sending a police detail to watch your apartment. Please, anytime you leave, make sure they know and can follow. Your life could be at stake." She said, trying to impart how serious the situation was on the doctor. He nodded, seemingly untroubled by the turn of events.

"Thank you for your time." She said over her shoulder as she stepped out of the apartment and into the dark, rainy night.

* * *

"Right under our fucking nose. Lucky thing, Wayne being there." Shane said as Kama called and explained to him what had happened.

"Lucky for Cole, not so much for Wayne. Listen, you've got to tell House. Cole and Wayne should be in the ER any moment now, you need to tell him before you head down to meet them and Tritter."

"Who's going to watch the door?" He asked.

"Ari's heading up there, he's your relief."

"Alright... I'll tell House. Tell Ari to text me when he gets here and I'll head down to meet Tritter." He was about to hang up the phone when Kama stopped him.

"Shane?" She asked. Her voice had lost all of it's typical professionalism. She wasn't a fellow agent anymore, she was his sister again.

"Yeah, Kam?" He asked, softening his voice.

"Be careful." She said quietly. Shane smiled sadly.

"You too." He replied before he ended the call. Breathing deeply, he headed into House's room.

* * *

It was nine thirty, and House was dozing on and off. He and Wilson were watching the Food Network for lack of a better activity, and Wilson only half paid attention to the cake show that was on. He kept stealing glances at House, making sure he was okay. He thought he didn't notice. It was amusing.

House would occasionally peak open an eye to stare at his best friend. He was worried about him, though he wouldn't let on. Seeing a murder victim... knowing what a good natured person Wilson was, seeing that kind of atrocity done with malice and forethought... for a person like Wilson, that could break them.

His anger flared again. He wanted nothing more than for one of the suits to walk in and tell them they'd caught or killed the bastard who did this. Preferably killed.

He partly got his wish. One of the suits did walk in, (Shane something, he couldn't remember) but he looked grave.

"Agent Kaczmarek?" Wilson asked, eyes flashing with worry. House deemed him worthy of opening both eyes, and devoted his full attention to the young blond man. He looked undeniably like his sister. He would hedge a guess that they were twins. They were both tall, and had the exact same shade of hazel eyes.

"Dr. House, Dr. Wilson..." He began. "One of your fellows was attacked, Dr. House. It was Cole." House's eyes widened.

"On the way to drop off the rugrat..." He whispered.

"On the way back." Shane corrected. "We don't know exactly what happened, but both Dr. Cole and Agent Wayne are critically injured and are heading to the ER as we speak."

"Will they live?" Wilson asked immediately.

"They've both lost a lot of blood, Agent Wayne was shot and Dr. Cole was stabbed, but with luck they should be okay. I don't know the full details, as I said before. I'll be able to fill you in more once I meet Detective Tritter downstairs when the ambulance arrives. Lieutenant Kensington will guard outside. " He told them. House nodded, barely registering what he had told them. Wilson nodded too, his eyes haunted.

"Thank you for telling us, Agent Kaczmarek." He said quietly. Nodding to them both, the young agent left the room without another word.

"Another attack." House stated in a small voice. "Two days, three attacks. This guy moves fast."

"At least he didn't kill Cole or Wayne. Maybe Cole will be able to offer up some evidence." Wilson said, his unfailing optimism peaking out as always.

"Maybe." House mumbled. This was too much. Too much had changed just in the past forty eight hours. He needed to rest, to be alone, to think...

"Um, I'm going to go talk to Lieutenant Kensington, see if I can get any more information. I'll leave you here to rest." He said. House nodded, subliminally thanking his friend for noticing that he needed to be alone, but still needed him nearby. Wilson smiled tightly at him as he left the room.

House leaned back in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Cole. Wayne. Brennan. Him. Four victims. Wayne was collateral damage. Cole and Brennan were attacked because of their association with him...

He just didn't understand who would hate him so much they would want to kill him and everyone he was involved with. Had he really done anything that bad to anyone to warrant that?

_Obviously. _He thought bitterly to himself. He had done something, and whatever it was resulted in Brennan's death, Cole and Wayne's attacks...

He had to do something.

He had to stop this before someone else died because of him.


	8. All Roads Lead to Nowhere

**Chapter 8: All Roads Lead to Nowhere **

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!_

* * *

"Since we've been put under police protection, one of my employees has been killed and another attacked. Call me crazy, but I think you guys need to amp up your protection efforts _just a little bit_." House said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Tritter sighed, folding his arms.

"We're doing the best we can."

"Yeah. That's kind of my point. Your best really sucks." House grumbled. "We need a different strategy."

"House, don't play the hero. Let us do our jobs." Tritter replied, looking jaded.

"Your job is to protect us and catch the psycho who's doing this, you haven't done either."

"You were only shot thirty hours ago! We've barely been able to get on our feet and this guy strikes every time we take a breath!" It was Lieutenant Kensington who spoke this time. "Just give us time, Doctor. We're trying to get this under control. Once Cole and Wayne are able, hopefully we'll be able to get useful testimonies from them."

House sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he laid back against his pillows. It was about eleven o'clock at night. The hospital had been thrown into chaos on what would have otherwise been a very calm night by the arrival of Cole and Wayne, and the calm pitter patter of rain had been replaced by the wail of sirens and the cacophony of footsteps as police arrived and the ER crew dealt with their injuries. He winced, knowing Cameron would most likely be the one attending to one or both of the victims. He couldn't imagine sweet, innocent Cameron prying a knife out of someone's back.

_A knife out of someone's back... No way. That's TOO symbolic. Or is it?_

"Have you guys considered what a knife in the back might mean?" House asked, changing the subject completely. Tritter's cold gray eyes flashed slightly, then switched to Kensington. Kensington shrugged.

"We were already working under the assumption that the killer is someone you know, Dr. House." He said.

"Yeah, but this... there's not many people I'm close enough to be betrayed by. None of the new applicants." House said, his mind working. "Which basically leaves my old team, Cuddy, and Wilson."

"House, you don't seriously think-" Wilson began, shock and hurt radiating from him.

"Relax, moron. You have an alibi for Brennan's death. I'm not suggesting _you_ did it, or anyone I just mentioned did it. I'm just thinking out loud." House assured him. Wilson sank down onto the loveseat, putting his face in his hands for a long moment. He turned his warm eyes to Tritter and Kensington.

"Have you interviewed his old team yet?" He asked.

"Agent Kaczmarek interviewed Foreman just as the shooting occurred. He's got an alibi, obviously. We have yet to interview Chase and Cameron." Tritter informed him. "I thought Cameron was a low priority, to be honest." House nodded. Cameron would never try to kill him.

Chase's motives came back into his mind, and he privately hated himself for even considering it...

_Is Chase the killer? _

* * *

Ari sighed as he waited for Chase to get out of his late running surgery. It was approaching midnight, and he had promised Kara he'd be home for dinner that night. After that, he had promised to be home by ten.

He leaned against the wall in the OR waiting room, running a hand through his spiky brown hair. He'd been working on the Princeton PD-FBI taskforce for almost nine years now, and not once had he ever seen a killer move this fast. He felt overwhelmed. He felt as though if he blinked, more people would be injured or dead. In Ari's opinion, they should all thank their lucky stars they'd only had one casualty so far.

"Can I help you?" A voice asked, jarring Ari from his thoughts. He jumped slightly, turning to see the young surgeon he had been seeking.

"Dr. Chase?" He asked. Chase nodded as he dried off his hands. He had a surgical mask hanging around his neck, and he was dressed in pale green scrubs. He extended a courteous hand to the young man, and Chase hesitated before taking it. His hands were still damp.

"Lieutenant Kensington, Princeton PD-FBI taskforce. I'm investigating the recent attacks on Dr. House and his team. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions, if that's alright?" Chase considered him for a long moment as he withdrew his hand.

"I suppose. Should we go to the cafeteria?" He asked as he peeled off his scrub hat, revealing long blond hair. Ari nodded.

"Yes, that's fine."

In an uneasy silence, the two men began their trek towards the cafeteria.

"So, Lieutenant, can I ask you an honest question?" Chase asked, finally breaking the quiet as they neared the cafeteria. "Am I a suspect?" Ari looked at Chase, debating how to answer. He sighed.

"Right now, anyone at all who's involved with House is a suspect. These crimes appear to be of a personal nature." Ari pushed open the cafeteria doors, letting Chase go in before him. Stepping through, he was glad to see the cafeteria was for the most part deserted. They sat down at the nearest vacant booth. A picture of a dusty road hung above them, with a dilapidated fence running along both sides. Ari observed that the hospital had interesting decor, to say the least.

"I understand that. What do you need to know?" Chase asked, leaning back. The doctor seemed perfectly at ease. Ari took that as a good sign, but then again, if Chase had something to hide, he would act like he didn't.

"I'd like you to tell me about your relationship with Allison Cameron."

* * *

Demetrius massaged his wounded leg, wincing. The bullet had pierced just below the kneecap, and each step he took was excruciating. He could deal with pain, though. The pain was not the problem.

Right now, his biggest problem was that he had failed to kill Cole, who could now give the police pertinent information pertaining to him. His height, dimensions, whether he was left handed or right handed. All things that could potentially turn the tables against him.

He had to kill Cole. Wayne would know some of the same information, but he was not nearly as close to him as Cole had been.

However, the hospital was under extremely tight security. The chances of him getting in undiscovered were incredibly slim.

_Unless..._

Demetrius made his way to the mirror, examining himself. Yes, he believed he could accurately disguise himself. He had different colored contacts to cover up his bright blue eyes, he could dye his hair, shave his beard. He would look completely different. He could easily hide his limp from the bullet wound.

He would have to do it tonight, before Cole had the chance to talk to the police. He would undoubtedly be in the ICU. All he had to do was get in, dispose of Cole, and get out. There would most likely be a police guard outside of his room that would need to be distracted.

That would not be a problem.

He picked up his cell phone, nervous to call his client, who would most likely not be thrilled with the turn of events. Sighing, he dialed the number anyway.

"Yes?"

"It's me. There is a slight complication."

"With what?"

"Insufferable FBI agent I have some history with, Wayne, stopped me before I managed to eliminate Cole. I injured both of them. I'm heading now to finish off the job. I just thought I should update you on the situation."

"You seem to be slipping, Karma."

"I am not. Cole will be taken care of."

"See to it that he is. Call me when he's dead."

"Of course."

* * *

Cameron stood idly in the ER, finishing up her paperwork and about to head home, when a man stumbled through the ER doors, clutching his shoulder. He groaned and collapsed on the ground, face first. Cameron rushed forward.

"Nurse! Need some help here, get a gurney." She turned him over, revealing a man she gauged to be in his late thirties. He was handsome, with blond hair and brown eyes. His skin was ghostly pale.

"Help." He whispered. "My shoulder." Nurses rushed forward, lifting the man onto a gurney. She quickly grabbed a pair of scissors from the nurse's station and cut open the side of his shirt. He had what appeared to be a gunshot wound in his shoulder. It was bleeding profusely.

"What happened to you?" Cameron asked.

"A man... couldn't see him. He shot me." He croaked.

"Get this man to the OR, now." She ordered. The nurses nodded their assent, and the man was rushed off. She sighed, a pang in her heart. Pointless, human cruelty.

She saw it all the time, and it still made her sick.

* * *

The two nurses raced him to the OR, urgent looks on their faces. The hospital was practically deserted at this time of the night. They soon reached a deserted corridor, and he saw no sign of anyone around. He had to take care of the nurses before they got to the OR, and the surgeons realized that his shoulder wound was just a deep cut, elaborate makeup, and a packet of O negative.

Now was the time to act.

Demetrius kicked out with his good leg, colliding directly with the first and smaller nurse's skull, sending her tumbling to the ground. He then vaulted from the gurney, landing on his knees. He jumped up quickly, turning around in a flash to punch out the second nurse, who went limp when his fist smacked against her temple. In mere seconds, he had taken out both of them.

He smiled slightly to himself. Glancing up at a security camera, he was glad he had paid off the security guard to turn off the camera in this hallway and the ICU indefinitely. It's amazing what a few thousand dollars could accomplish.

He had wanted this hallway's camera to be deactivated because it was generally empty, even during the day, and was usually only used to transport patients to the OR. Demetrius was a careful planner. He liked his bases covered.

Pulling a beanie out of his pocket, he pulled it down over his hair, making sure that once he left this hallway and headed for the ICU, the three security cameras in between wouldn't be able to gain anything from his appearance, even though he was disguised.

Keeping his head low, he made his way out of the hallway. The nurses were a distraction, and a good one at that. The OR would have been forewarned that they were getting an emergency patient, and would wonder where the nurses were. When they were found passed out in a hallway, someone would be called to investigate. Whoever was protecting the hospital's main entrance and perimeter would need to stay put, whoever was protecting House would be unable to leave their post, and it was likely that whoever was guarding Cole's room would be left to investigate.

If that was not the case, however, he would deal with it in a different way.

When he arrived, he saw Agent Shane Kaczmarek leaning against the wall next to Cole's room, his brow furrowed, playing with his belt loop and looking distracted. Just as Demetrius rounded the corner, landing himself directly next to the bathrooms in the ICU, Shane's phone rang loudly. He quickly picked it up.

"Kaczmarek... what? Anyone House knows? This doesn't make- yeah I'll get down there. Send someone up to Cole's room quick though, even if it's just a field guy. I don't want to leave him unprotected for long." Upon hanging up, Shane rushed out of the ICU, his brow creased with worry. As soon as his steps faded away, Demetrius stepped out from the shadows, and after checking to make sure the night nurse was distracted (dealing with a belligerent family member, by the looks of it) he moved silently to Cole's room, turning the handle without a sound and slipping in.

Cole lay on the bed, his eyes closed, an IV attached to his arm. His heart beeped along slow and steady on the monitor.

Not for long. There was no time to contemplate this task. He removed his gun from his holster and pointed it directly between Cole's eyes.

This time, there was no room for a mistake. No room for mercy. Cold, calculated killing. It was what he was paid to do.

And he was good at it.

He fired off a shot, completely quiet thanks to the silencer, except for the thump of the bullet hitting flesh, bone, and brain.

Without a backwards glance, Demetrius left Cole's body alone in his room. The heart monitor was now disconnected so it wouldn't alert the nurses to his state.

He peeked around to make sure he was still out of sight, and began rushing towards the nearest emergency exit. He reached the door, pushing it open with all of his strength. An outside stone staircase led down one floor to the ground. Ignoring the screaming protests of his knee, Demetrius barreled down the stairs, his movements showing urgency, but his calculated breaths and calm heart said otherwise.

Demetrius reached the bottom of the stairs, took a long breath, and pounded off into the welcoming darkness of the university grounds.

* * *

Shane bent down and helped the smaller nurse, whose nametag read "Jodi". He managed to get her into a standing position. The young woman steadied herself on the gurney as he went to help the taller, older nurse, whose nametag read "Marge". A large bruise had formed on her temple, and she stood up shakily.

"Are you two ladies alright?" Shane asked. Marge massaged her forehead.

"My head feels like it's in a vice, but other than that, yeah."

"I'm alright. Just sore." Jodi piped up, her voice high and tremulous.

"I know you're probably scared right now, but this attack may be connected to the assaults on Dr. House and his team. Can you tell me what happened?" Shane asked, his voice calming and smooth.

"A guy came into the ER, collapsed right in front of Dr. Cameron. He said he was shot in his shoulder, it looked like his artery was gushing, there was so much blood. We got him on the gurney, we were trying to get him down to the OR-" Jodi began.

"Then the bastard suddenly stops moaning in pain and clutching his shoulder and kicks Jodi in the head, then jumps of the gurney and punches me right in the face." Marge finished, a Wisconsin accent coming in strong through her irritated words. Shane was perplexed. This couldn't be a coincidence, but House hadn't mentioned being close to any nurses, and the fact that they weren't killed didn't fit with the way their killer was working.

Another confusing piece in the damn puzzle.

"Did you see what he looked like?" Shane asked.

"He had blond hair and brown eyes. He was actually kind of handsome." Jodi said, shrugging slightly.

"He was built like a tank. Broad shoulders, huge muscles. No wonder he knocked me out with one punch." Marge added. Shane pinched his ear lobe, like he often did when he was frustrated or thinking. Their description didn't match any of the people that were closely associated with House. Chase was blond and handsome, but he wasn't tall and his eyes were blue.

He nodded, deciding on the next course of action.

"Well, I think it'd be best if you went down to the police station and-" He was interrupted by his phone going off loudly. He shot the two nurses an apologetic glance before picking up his phone.

"Yeah?" He check the caller ID. Ari.

"I finished my interview with Chase, and I went up to cover your guard on Cole's door." His voice was a dead monotone. Shane knew something was wrong.

"What's going on?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer. Ari let out a ragged breath.

"Cole's dead, Shane."


	9. Death or Glory

**Chapter 9: Death or Glory**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!_

* * *

House blinked his eyes as sleep departed him. He had fallen asleep soon after Cole and Wayne had been declared stable, around midnight. Judging by the amount of sunlight streaming into the room, House guessed it to be nine or ten o'clock.

Wilson was sleeping on the loveseat, his blanket tangled and twisted under his form. His mouth was open, and he was snoring loudly. House suppressed a smirk as he cracked his neck. He felt restless. Being trapped in a bed for days... well, it sucked to say the least. House yawned loudly and turned on the TV, not caring if he woke Wilson or not. His friend was generally an early riser anyway.

Wilson blinked his eyes open as a knock came on the door. "What?" House called, flipping through the channels, trying to find something decent on daytime television.

"We need to speak to you." It was Tritter. Of all the cops they had to send to talk to him, why did have to be the one he hated?

"Come in." Wilson said, giving a House a pointed look. He had no doubt seen that House was about to give a biting response as usual. He rolled his eyes at Wilson. How the hell was he supposed to respect Tritter? Because of his talent as a police officer? Judging by Brennan's corpse and the knife in Cole's back, he wasn't particularly good at that. He knew it was childish to hold grudges, but that man had nearly gotten him thrown in prison and had nearly destroyed his friendship with Wilson.

Tritter entered the room, looking exhausted and frustrated. He let the door shut behind him and crossed his arms.

"We didn't want to wake you last night after your _ordeal_," He laced the words with unappreciated sarcasm. "but we've got news."

"Gee, it looks like you spent the night actually doing your job!" House exclaimed with false cheer. "What's going down in magical 'We're doing the best we can' land?"

"Cole's dead." Tritter said bluntly. "Someone snuck into the ER last night, knocked out two nurses, and then snuck into Cole's room in the ICU and shot him point blank."

House stared at him. He blinked several times, hoping he was just having a nightmare. Nope, Tritter was still standing in front of him, looking worn down, and Wilson was still sitting several feet away, shocked and dismayed.

"So the one person who could possibly have any information on the killer is now dead because you and your people failed again." House accused, suddenly furious. "Excellent fucking job."

"Will you shut the hell up?" Tritter burst out. "We aren't trying to get your people killed. This guy, whoever he is, he's good. Better than we've ever dealt with."

"Wait, if he snuck into the ICU, shouldn't he have been caught on camera?" Wilson asked.

"He was caught on camera, but his face didn't turn up anything in VICAP. We suspect he was disguised." Tritter explained.

"So it wasn't someone who's involved with me?" House asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

"No." Tritter said. "We're under the impression that he's a hired gun." House's heart sank.

"So someone who knows me is trying to kill me." House summed up. "They're just too cowardly to do it themselves."

"That's essentially what we believe, yes." Tritter answered, uncrossing his arms. "I just thought you should know. We've tightened security on the hospital. We've now got full involvement from Princeton PD. The task force is handling the investigation, but we've got full around the clock security details in the hospital and each of your employees and coworkers homes. Hopefully that'll deter any further attacks."

"It sounds like you've got absolutely no clue what to do other than hope you can put enough canon fodder between my people and this psycho to stop any more casualties." House surmised. Tritter just glared at him.

"If you have any further questions, ask Agent Kaczmarek. She's relieving me for guard duty."

"Kama or Shane?" Wilson asked.

"Kama." Tritter answered before turning his back to them and promptly leaving the room. House was relieved to see the detective go. His temper ran high whenever the jackass walked within a fifteen foot radius of him.

House sighed, closing his eyes for several seconds. Another one of his employees was dead. Although he wouldn't have ever admitted it, he had actually kind of liked Cole. He was a good doctor, despite his 'imaginary friend'.

"Another one bites the dust." He said darkly. Wilson was sitting up now, his dark hair ruffled. Bags hung under his eyes.

"Yeah." He responded quietly. House wasn't surprised Wilson couldn't sleep. After all, he was more of a bleeding heart than House was, and he was on a drip of pain medication that made him just fuzzy enough to sleep through the guilt that bore down on his shoulders during his waking hours.

He had done something to cause this. He had pissed of somebody enough to cause them to take action.

He just had to figure out what he had done and who he did it to.

* * *

"Wayne's awake." Shane jumped from his position in front of Cuddy's office. They were all rotating guard duty with Princeton PD now, since they only had a few investigative routes to go down, which Ari was following up on.

Ari, who was now standing in front of him, looking grave.

"We're going to have to tell him what happened to Cole." Shane said, frowning deeply and massaging his forehead. This case was getting more morbid by the minute.

"Why do you think I look so ecstatic? Come on, I'll have one of the shmucks watch the Dean's office, we've got to talk to Wayne. Hopefully he picked up something useful about the perp."

"Fingers crossed." Shane said, stepping away from the wall and hurry after Ari.

* * *

Ari and Shane hovered over Wayne, who felt like his entire body was aching. As soon as he was awake, he had lifted his covers to see a newly stitched hole in his abdomen, and a quick look at his shoulder found a similar wound there. Thankfully, neither bullet had hit anything crucially important, although his pancreas had been nicked slightly. It could have been a lot worse.

It came with the job. He was very aware of his own mortality. One misstep, one mistake... and you were done.

He shook his head, trying to clear his racing thoughts. He would listen to what Ari and Shane had to tell him before bringing up his theory as to the identity of the murderer. The chase, the seeming inability to acknowledge pain, the massive size and expert gunmanship... it all pointed to one person.

But first, he needed to be caught up on the situation.

"Last night after you and Cole were brought in, someone came into the ER masquerading as a patient. It seemed he was pretending he'd been shot. The nurses got him on a gurney and started rushing him to the OR, but as soon as they reached one of the back hallways he attacked them both and fled. The camera in that hallway had been inexplicably turned off for the past week. And yes, we fired the on duty security guard and took him in for questioning. Anyway, he headed straight to the ICU from there, drew Shane away from his room, snuck in, and shot him dead. So, we've got one more casualty and about a dozen more unanswered questions." Ari finished, looking spent. Shane nodded his agreement with the story.

"We got him on camera and the nurses gave me the description, but nothing came up when we ran his face through ViCAP and he didn't leave any prints. We've posted the best image of his face we could get on the news and said to watch out for him, but I'm going to take a wild guess here and say he was disguised. He's too good to not be cautious." Shane explained. Wayne nodded.

"Do you have the footage?" He asked. Shane nodded, pulling out his phone.

"Yeah, I had a tech forward it to me a couple hours ago. Want to check it out?" He asked. Wayne nodded, accepting Shane's phone. He clicked the compiled footage.

He smiled bitterly to himself. Karma could dye his hair and hide his face all he wanted, but his height and the small scar on the back of his neck gave him away to Wayne in a heart beat.

After all, he had been the one to leave that mark on the Russian.

"I know who he is." Wayne began. Ari and Shane's eyes widened. Before they could launch into their questions, Wayne continued. "It's Karma."

"Karma?" Shane echoed. "You don't mean...

"Yes. I know it's him." Wayne said resolutely, trying to control the cold fury in his voice. Ari didn't look convinced, he pursed his lips.

"He's wanted internationally for over a dozen murders. He would have come up when we used the face recognition software..." He said, then added gently. "Wayne, listen, you don't think you might just be seeing ghosts here?"

"Karma is an expert in disguise. He probably added fake cheekbones, concaves and convexes, anything to change his appearance enough for him not to register. You can already tell from this he dyed his hair and shaved beard that he was trying to fool the cameras. I guarantee he's probably got fake eye contacts too." Wayne said. "Listen to me. I know first hand what he's capable of. To him, this is all just a job. A job he's incredibly, frighteningly good at. There's a reason he's never been caught before. He's got hundreds of fake identities and bank accounts all over the world. Catching him will not be easy, but at least now we know who we're chasing after. _I _know who I'm chasing after." He clenched his fists. "I've been looking for him for years, and here he just walks right into my sights."

Ari and Shane exchanged glances. Wayne sighed. "If either of you were in my position, you'd be eager for retribution, too." He said, almost inaudibly.

Ari nodded. "You're right, I would. But do you really think killing him will fix anything?" He asked, his voice soft.

"No." Wayne responded. "But it's a start."

* * *

House groaned as someone knocked on his door for the second time that day.

"Two hours and another one of them is already dead." House said dismally. Wilson looked at him seriously.

"Not funny, House." Wilson said.

"If it was funny, I'd be laughing." He replied. "Come in!" He called.

Kama walked in, and Wilson seemed to sit up much straighter. House had registered Wilson's interest in the young FBI agent, whether Wilson knew it or not.

"Dr. Wilson, Dr. House." She said in greeting.

"Just call me James." Wilson corrected, smiling sheepishly.

"Alright." She agreed, returning his smile for a short moment before looking at House. "Are you two alright?" She asked.

"_James_ and I are fine." House responded mockingly as he cast a meaningful glance at Wilson. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

"We believe we know who's behind the attacks themselves." She began. House raised an eyebrow.

"Guessing by the way you phrased that, the person who's been attacking us isn't working alone." He guessed. She nodded hesitantly.

"Wayne woke up about an hour ago, and he's under the impression that the murderer is a Russian assassin with the code name 'Karma' that he's had some history with." She explained, settling her self against the wall. "Wayne pursued him for years, but we still only have some very basic information on him. From what we've surmised, he's former KGB, in his early forties, and has been in the business of being a hit man for the past sixteen years. He's got hundreds of aliases, only a few dozen of which we're aware of. He's an expert at what he does, and he's confirmed to be involved with twelve murders worldwide, and linked to who knows how many more. He's dangerous, to say the least."

House was getting more worried by the second. To know that a trained, cold blooded, expert and merciless killer was after them was not a good way to settle someone's nerves.

"Shit." House whispered. Wilson had his hands clasped in front of him, and he rested his chin on top of them. He looked as concerned as House felt, and adding in the fact that he was Wilson, he was probably only showing about one tenth of how worried he really was.

"Are you guys any closer to catching him?" Wilson asked.

"Now that we know who we're dealing with, we'll be more prepared. We know who to look for, and what to look for. He was disguised when he arrived here, but his height is a dead give away, not to mention a small scar on the back of his neck he didn't cover up." She informed them. "Hopefully with how tight we have security right now and this added advantage, we'll be able to catch him."

"He's an assassin." House said, as if that explained it all. Kama arched a thin blond eyebrow. "It doesn't matter if you kill or capture him, the person who hired him can just sic another hit man on me." House frowned, his forehead creasing.

"Hopefully if we can get Karma into custody, we can interrogate who his client is." Kama stated. "Don't worry, Dr. House. You're in good hands."

"Yes, that statement is definitely emphasized by the fact that two of my employees are dead." House responded harshly. "The identity of the killer doesn't matter, it's the person who hired him. Until you find whoever that is, we _will not be safe_." He said, frustrated. _These cops are fucking useless._

"House, they're doing the best they can." Wilson said, trying to ease House's tension.

And failing.

"Listen, how about you just get the hell out and try to keep this psycho from killing anyone else." House commanded roughly. Kama stiffened.

"Alright." She nodded tersely at him and Wilson. "I'll update you if we learn anything else." She said as she left the room. Wilson rounded on House. _Oh no, the white knight has to step in and defend his lady._

"House, do you have to be an ass to every person who tries to help us?" Wilson asked, exasperated.

"Have you met me?" House asked.

"Unfortunately." Wilson sighed.

* * *

Demetrius lay in his hotel room, his injured leg elevated by a fluffed up pillow. His laptop lay on his lap, and Demetrius was currently researching the FBI-Princeton PD taskforce.

_So, it appears Agent Wayne has found himself a new home since the last time we met._

This added yet another layer of difficulty to this assignment. Wayne had sworn revenge on him years ago, and Demetrius had seen what vengeance had driven people to do. Some said it brought out the worst in people. Demetrius thought it brought out the best.

If anyone had a chance of catching him, it was Wayne. But if he had any say in the matter, that would not happen.

At the moment, Demetrius was searching through the FBI data base, deciding he needed to know his enemy better.

Agent Shane Kaczmarek, twenty nine, had been on the taskforce for three years. He and his twin sister Kama were two of the youngest agents in FBI history. Shane had served a tour as a Marine before becoming a Navy SEAL, but as soon as his first tour was up for the SEALs, he quit. It appeared over half of his unit had been killed on an assignment in Iraq. When he returned, he began training to become an FBI field agent, and his first assignment out of training was to the Princeton field office.

Kama had gone to the Ohio State, earning herself a double degree in both criminology and forensics. She had been a prodigy growing up, she was the valedictorian of her high school class, and graduated in the top five percent of her class in college.

Michael Tritter, the newest addition to the task force, having only been assigned for a year, had been a cop in Princeton for going on twenty years. He had one of the best records of any police officer on the force, more arrests and barely a mistake to his name. During his later years, he dealt mainly in drug enforcement, but the guy had covered everything over his years there, from human trafficking to racketeering to homicide. He was good.

He was working his way though the taskforce's medical examiner, one Dr. Eric Donald, when his phone rang.

Demetrius accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear, knowing who it would be before he even picked up.

"Cole's dead. Nicely done."

"He will not be speaking to anyone anytime soon." Demetrius responded.

"Yes, now about what to do next..." His client trailed off.

"Have I played with my food enough to eat it?" He asked cryptically.

"Oh, no, I don't think so. This is becoming kind of fun, actually. But I've noticed something, Karma..."

"And what is that?"

"You're killing people on the fringe of House's influence, people who have only been working for him for a few weeks. I want that to stop."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I want you to strike closer to his heart."

Demetrius paused, waiting for his client to continue.

"I want you to kill one of his original fellows, this time."

* * *

_A/N: ViCAP stands for Violent Crime Analysis Program, for those of you who don't know._


	10. Eyes Wide Open

**Chapter 10: Eyes Wide Open**

_Disclaimer: House characters are not mine. Which is probably a good thing, since I have a nasty tendency to kill them! A lot..._

* * *

As evening set on Princeton, House and Wilson discussed the change in the case. The discovery that it was likely a hired assassin, this 'Karma' as Wayne called him, while not being extremely useful, could still help narrow the suspect pool of who may have hired him.

"Whoever wants you dead, House, he or she has money, and a lot of it." Wilson said.

"_Us _dead." House corrected. "Better come to terms with it now, Wilson. If everyone around me is a target, your public enemy number two, with Cuddy in third."

"Thanks for the reminder, House." Wilson sighed. "I'm more worried about your contestants and your old team. I mean, you don't leave this room, and I barely do-"

"No kidding." House mumbled, but Wilson ignored him.

"-but they go all over the place, and they've only got one guard each when they go home to my knowledge. I think this guy is perfectly capable of killing two people." Wilson said, worry etched all over his face.

"Yeah, your right. Let's focus on the negative." House replied irritably. "And as for the wealthy psychopath theory, that doesn't help much. I'm a doctor. Most of the people I know have a lot of money."

"It rules out most of your patients, at least." Wilson pointed out.

"Most, but not all. I've treated a few rich people." House said, shrugging. "Rules out my applicants, that's for sure. I'm paying them a pittance."

"Did Moriarty have money?" Wilson asked curiously. House rolled his eyes.

"I doubt it. If he had money, he would have hired someone else to do it then as well, instead of coming in and getting his hands dirty." House said. Wilson looked like he was about to speak when the door opened.

House's remaining applicants filed in. Amber, Henry, Kutner, Taub, and Thirteen walked in slowly, their eyes all darting from House to Wilson. He would have asked if they had found out about Cole, but by the haunted look in Kutner's eyes, he didn't have to ask. The men had become incredibly fast friends, for God knows what reason.

Taub spoke first, breaking the uneasy silence that had formed in the room.

"The sample we took was negative for Creutzfeldt-Jakob, and she's still hallucinating." He said, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Or the hallucinations are back." Henry said. "We weren't actually aware she was still seeing things until about two hours ago. She's seeing her dead mother."

"Any particular reason you're telling me this now, instead of two hours ago?" House asked, annoyed.

"We... wanted to give you a chance to rest." Thirteen said slowly.

House struggled to find a response, because for some reason all he saw when he looked at his applicants was their faces pale with death, their eyes glassy, mouths slightly open in looks of terror.

He suddenly felt very nauseous, and before he could bite back the vomit, he dove over the side of his bed and threw up on the floor. He coughed up only a small amount, having not eaten since that morning, but it left his throat feeling burned and his mouth tasting of bile.

He sat back up in his bed, wiping his mouth on his hospital gown. The eyes of his applicants were wide with horror.

"House, maybe you should drop this case for the time being-" Wilson began, but House cut him off.

"Her neurological symptoms are worsening." House said, trying to force himself into diagnostic mode and out of "All My Employees Are Going to Be Murdered" mode. "Does she know her mother's dead?"

"No, she's seeing her, so she thinks she's still alive." Amber reported. He was glad that they had skipped the questioning of how he was, how he was dealing with Cole's death, etcetera. Rule number one of coping? Complete avoidance. _Works fine for me._

"Then we have a new symptom. Delusions. Seeing her mother, that's a hallucination. Not knowing she's dead is a delusion." He said. "Seizures. Hallucinations. Delusions. Go." He said, motioning to his applicants. Wilson had hit the call button for a nurse, and House promptly ignored her as she cleaned up the refuse by his bed. The fellows glanced awkwardly in that direction, all looking intensely uncomfortable. "I'm not dying, she is." House said, exasperated. "Focus on her."

"Carbon monoxide poisoning?" Kutner proposed. "Some haunted house's use-"

"No headache, no tachycardia." Thirteen said, cutting of his idea. "What about a hereditary connection? I mean, she's twenty four, her mother died around the same age."

"Yeah, in Ukraine, twenty years ago." Amber pointed out, glancing to House for approval before continuing. "Good luck trying to get those records."

"So, we start new records." House surmised. "Test for every hereditary disease that fits the symptoms and is passed through mitochondrial DNA."

"That's over forty disorders!" Taub complained.

"Start with amyloidosis, and keep going until you reach... zamyloidosis. Didn't your mother ever teach you the alphabet?" House asked, his trademark sarcasm seeping into his voice. He hoped that acting like he normally did would dispel any annoying questions from the room at large.

He was awarded with nods and a few almost undetectable smirks before they turned on heel to carry out his orders. Kutner was the last out, but House stopped him before he reached the door.

"Overly Excited Former Foster Kid." He called. The young doctor turned around, his eyebrows raised in question. "Go home. Get some rest. The others are perfectly capable of mindlessly running gels without you." Kutner licked his lips, seeming to be searching for an answer.

"I don't think going home's a great idea right now." Kutner said. House just tilted his head, waiting for Kutner to lend him more of an explanation. "Well..."

"I think what Kutner's trying to tell you is that all of your new team members slept here last night." Wilson said. "Which is understandable. At this point, leaving the hospital doesn't seem very safe." Kutner nodded his head as Wilson explained this.

"I'll just stay here." He said. House nodded.

"Okay. Go." Kutner bent his head one last time and shut the door behind him, leaving House and Wilson alone.

"He's scared. They all are." House said. "They've been trapped into staying in my orbit, since leaving it also leaves the only thing standing in the way of them and the psycho who's trying to get us all killed."

"We're all scared, House." Wilson told him quietly. "Right now, all we can do is just trust that Wayne and his team can find out who hired this Karma guy."

"Yeah. Explains why I'm in such a bad mood, doesn't it?"

* * *

Wayne was hunched over his desk, his fingers sore from the hours of typing. He was an agent who much preferred field work to mindlessly staring at a computer screen, but he needed a refresher on the various information he'd gotten on Karma over the past twelve years.

He had discharged himself from the hospital, heavily against his doctors wishes. He wouldn't be running any marathons anytime soon, but there was no way he was staying bedridden while Karma was on the loose. His shoulder and abdomen ached greatly, but he would live.

His phone rang noisily on his desk, causing the headache he had developed to worsen.

"Wayne." He said by way of greeting as he picked up his phone.

"Kent, I've finished the autopsy on Brennan." Eric's voice came from the other side of the line. Eric was the only person on the taskforce with whom he was on a consistent first name basis with. After all, he'd worked next to the brilliant ME for going on eight years now, since he started working at the Princeton Field Office.

"Find anything?" He asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. He didn't want Eric to know just how much he was grasping at straws at the moment.

"Yes, actually. In the crime scene report, you remember the gash on the doorway leading into the bedroom?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I investigated further into the bruise on Brennan's forehead, and it couldn't have come from the doorway. With the force it would've taken to leave a bruise of such severity, it would have also caused a gash if his head had been knocked against it." He explained.

"Okay. How does that help me, Eric?" Wayne asked. He knew his ME wouldn't have called him to share the information that, at the moment, seemed completely useless.

"Well, it caused me to both investigate the real source of the bruise, which I discovered was most likely the hilt of the knife he was fatally stabbed with, but much more importantly, it made me wonder what _did _cause the gash." He said, and Wayne could hear the tell tale scientific discovery excitement creeping into his friend's voice.

Wayne remained silent so Eric could continue.

"So, I analyzed the crime scene photos, and the techs were right to assume that the gash in the doorway was caused by a head slamming into it- however, I don't believe it was Brennan. I determined what angle a person's head would need to be at to leave the form of damage in the wood, and the corresponding wound on the person's head would be on the right side, about two and a half inches above their right ear."

"Alright..." Wayne said, following Eric's train of thought and hoping they were going to the same place.

"After examining the footage from last night, I can see that the man in the video purposely mussed his hair over that particular spot, which essentially confirmed that he was one who damaged the doorway, not Cole, and I know exactly what kind of injury he has."

"An injury that would draw blood." Wayne guessed. "Do you think we could get a sample from the gash?" He asked, leaning forward on his desk. This could be the break they need. The break _he_ needed.

"You see, that's what I thought, so I called the forensics team and had them get samples from the crack. Unfortunately, it appears that our friend Karma cleaned it, knowing enough not to leave his blood as evidence."

"Damn." Wayne breathed. "I should've known he wouldn't be that careless."

"However," Eric said loudly, "He didn't remember that minute wood fragments would be left on the ground from where he gouged the wood. Fragments so small he could hardly see them, and certainly couldn't clean them..." He could hear the smile in his friend's voice.

"You need to-"

"Running the fragments as we speak, Kent." He said quickly. "I'll give you an update when we get the results back from the lab."

"Good job, Eric. This could be what we need to find the bastard." Wayne said, the stoic professionalism leaving his tone, replaced with the icy anger he felt towards Karma.

"Kent, you can't allow yourself to get caught up in this vendetta again. You nearly died once already, twice if you count the shooting last night." Eric warned, concerned. Wayne's jaw tightened.

"He killed my wife, Eric." He reminded his friend. "I nearly had him back in 2000, and he got away with nothing more than a scar. He killed my wife, and I've failed to catch him."

"It's been twelve years since Sally died, Kent. You seemed to have almost moved on, and now with Karma's reappearance, I'm afraid of seeing you go back to how you were..." Eric trailed off.

"I'm going to find him," Wayne said. "And I'm going to kill him. Simple as that."

* * *

Around eight o'clock that night, someone knocked on House's door. Wilson and House, who had been watching The Odd Couple on TV, were jarred from their stupor. They had been relatively silent that evening, both feeling so drained, and Wilson fearful to speak with House about the identity of Karma's client, for fear of upsetting his friend. He was still lost as to why House had suddenly lost his stomach when his fellows had come in earlier.

"You okay for visitors?" Wilson asked. House rolled his eyes.

"Oh, gee, I don't know if I can handle it, being so traumatized and all." House said, puffing out his lower lip mockingly. Wilson sighed.

"Come in!" Cuddy peered through the door, looking as tired as he felt.

"Hey guys." She said, stepping into the room. House gave her an appraising look.

"Well, you look sufficiently frazzled. This must be a media shit storm, Princeton's Golden Boy being the target of a ruthless assassin." House said as Cuddy seated herself on the loveseat next to Wilson.

"I can practically smell the true crime novel." She said, looking jaded. Wilson stood up, stretching.

"I'll give you guys some time, I'm going to go stretch my legs real quick." Wilson said. He intended to get himself a coffee, use the bathroom- the things he had been putting off, unable to convince himself to leave House's room for more than a minute or two. Something terrible would creep inside of him as soon as his friend was out of sight, like when he came back, House wouldn't be there.

"How long are you going to be gone? Cuddy and I will need about thirty seconds of foreplay and then another five minutes to-" Wilson cut him off by shutting the door behind him, a smirk on his face. It turned into a shy smile when he saw that Kama was guarding House's room still.

"Hello, James." She said, returning his smile.

"Hey, Kama." He greeted her. He noticed the young woman looked positively spent. He imagined that the taskforce was working themselves into the ground on this one. As he made his way to the coffee maker at the nurse's station in the ICU, he decided to get Kama a cup as well.

It's tricky, getting women coffee. Obviously, if you don't know them well, you don't know how they take it, or if they even drink coffee for that matter. Most people prefer their coffee with cream and sugar, but if you give a woman cream and sugar, that can be considered as an intimate gesture, or a lame attempt at hitting on them.

He decided to get hers black, but grab a cream and sugar and offer them to her. Cover all his bases without looking like a tool.

Strolling back with the Styrofoam cups in his hands, he lifted one in Kama's general direction. As he arrived next to her (she was leaning against the wall outside of House's room) she smiled and took a heavy sniff of the air.

"I don't suppose one of those is for me?" She asked. Wilson smiled and handed her a cup, then pulled the cream and sugar out of his pocket.

"Yep. Didn't know how you take yours, so I grabbed these in case." He said. She gratefully accepted the cup and quickly tore open the cream and sugar, dumping copious amounts in her drink.

"Thank you, I'm running on empty here." She took a large sip of the coffee, her shoulders seeming to relax slightly.

"Has there been any changes in the case?" He asked. Kama nodded her head slightly.

"Our ME, he thinks he may have a way to get us the killer's DNA." She said. Wilson took a sip of his own coffee, considering what she'd told him.

"What House said earlier was true, you need to find the client. Otherwise he can just hire someone else if you capture or kill this Karma guy."

"But if we capture him, we can interrogate him. Hopefully get some information on who his client is." Kama told him.

"Hopefully." Wilson said, frowning. "House's team is afraid to even leave the hospital, and you guys can't assign a battalion of armed guards to everyone... I'm afraid someone else is going to get hurt." He stated quietly.

"We're doing all we can to keep all of you safe." Kama assured him. "At _all _times."

"What about Foreman?" Wilson asked. "He's the only one outside of the hospital and this general area. How many people do you have guarding him?"

"One inside his home, two outside. We've made sure he knows it's incredibly dangerous to go anywhere alone. We think we've made ourselves clear." She said with a small smile, before she grew serious again. "James, trust me, we won't let anyone get hurt again while-"

The end of her sentence was stopped dead as she heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet ringing out in the distance.


	11. Full Dark, No Stars

**Chapter 11: Full Dark, No Stars**

_Disclaimer: They're not mine. Excuse me while I cry._

* * *

Cameron stood at the Nurse's station in the ER, trying to focus on her end of the day paperwork through the haze of distraction clouding her mind. The past two and a half days since House's shooting weighed heavily in her mind.

She hadn't known Brennan, and barely knew Cole. However, she did know House, and it was not only his shooting but the fact that it was his fellows that appeared to be the ones being targeted that jarred her.

If this had happened barely two months earlier, it could be Foreman, Chase, or herself meeting the biting end of a bullet, or the cold blade of a knife. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped nearly three inches in the air, letting her paranoia get the best of her. Although for the time being, no hostility had been shown towards her and the rest of the original team, she still found herself getting easily startled and glancing over her shoulder.

_You're in the middle of a crowded emergency room, with hundreds of witnesses around. Calm down._

She turned quickly, and was relieved to see Chase standing behind her, offering her a lofty smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He apologized. "I just wanted to see if you were ready to head home."

Chase had surprised her the night before by accompanying her home and insisting on staying the night. Apparently some kind of protectiveness had been stirred in her boyfriend upon learning that the people in House's sphere of influence were being targeted.

Chase staying with her did make her feel more secure, and she was privately very grateful for his company. It left them with two guards out front, and both of their personal guards in the house with them, rendering them as safe as they could possibly be in the current situation.

Honestly, she was surprised by Chase's protectiveness. It was the last thing she expected in the beginnings of their fledgling relationship. She had expected him to be essentially aloof. Instead he was sweet, caring, and never had any qualms about spending extended amounts of time together. It was... nice.

_Robert Chase, the perfect man. Crazy._

"If you can hold on like five minutes, I can finish up this paperwork and we can leave." She told him. She glanced back at her personal guard, who had tailed her as a shadow throughout the day. His name was Kurt Lewis, a police officer just recently out of the academy. Princeton PD was pulling out all the stops to protect them since Cole's death. With the exception of using the bathroom, none of them had a minute alone. Chase's guard, whose name she didn't know yet, was standing roughly eight feet behind him, trying to look like he wasn't there.

"Alright, no problem." Chase said, leaning against the counter. For a few moments he sat there quietly, watching her work. However, a question that had been bugging at the edges of her mind soon formed on her tongue, and she couldn't help but ask it.

"Why haven't you visited House yet?" She asked, pursing her lips and looking away from her forms. Chase looked surprised at the question. His expression darkened

"Before Brennan died? I didn't visit him because I know he hates being pitied. He'd want as few people sitting beside his sickbed as possible." He paused, looking away from her. "After? Well, I'm pissed, that's why." Cameron tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, indicating for him to elaborate.

"Whoever's attacking him isn't doing this for giggles. They're doing it because House stepped on someone's toes he shouldn't have stepped on. We've seen it happen before, with Vogler, with Tritter-" Cameron stopped listening after that. Her mind immediately flew back to earlier in the day as she felt her heart speed up.

* * *

_Several hours earlier..._

"You guys up for visitors?" Cameron said as Kama let her into House's room. House and Wilson looked away from the TV, both of their eyes landing on her.

"Hi." House said. "What, no tasty snacks this time?" He asked, looking back to the TV. Cameron just rolled her eyes, though a slight smile played on her lips.

"Hey, Cameron." Wilson greeted.

"Hey, Wilson." She said, plopping down on one of the spare chairs in the room. "How are you feeling?" She said, directing the question at House. He shrugged.

"Like I got shot. We've been over this before." House told her, seeming disinterested. Cameron just snorted, not surprised by his response. Even after getting shot, House was still House.

"I'm sorry about Cole." She said, her voice low and serious. Wilson shifted uncomfortably, glancing at House. House took his eyes of the TV to focus on her, and Cameron saw something in them she wasn't used to seeing in his expressive eyes- _guilt_.

"Yeah, yeah, can we get past the obligatory condolences and 'get wells' and skip to something that actually matters?" House asked edgily. Cameron just sighed, used to House's behavior.

"Are there any new developments in the case?" Cameron asked. Wilson nodded.

"Nothing big. They just figured out who's trying to kill us all." House said nonchalantly.

"What?!" Cameron exclaimed.

"Not what, who." House corrected. "Some Russian madman with the codename 'Karma', international assassin extraordinaire."

"So that means..." Cameron trailed off.

"It means he was hired." Wilson finished heavily. "Meaning they have to catch not only this 'Karma' guy, but also his client." This explained both House and Wilson's moods. Although this new information would help narrow the suspect pool, it still left more questions than answers.

* * *

"Vogler." Cameron whispered, an epiphany look in her eye that reminded Chase eerily of House. "Vogler!" She said louder, looking at Chase, who had been trying to get her attention for the past thirty seconds as she stared into space.

"What about him?" He asked.

"There was a break in the case earlier - it looks like the person who's been trying to kill House is some kind of Russian assassin. A _hired _assassin. Meaning someone with a lot of money had to hire him." Cameron was motioning excitedly with her hands, and she was looking at Chase expectantly. When he just stared at her, rather concerned, she continued. "Chase, don't you get it?! It's _Vogler_! It must be!"

Chase's armed guard had moved closer to them now. His face was rather puffy and pale, his hair flaming red. A few freckles dotted his face. There was something unnatural about his appearance. Cameron's guard looked sideways at him, a glint of suspicion in his eyes.

"V-Vogler?" Chase stammered. "That was years ago, I mean-" He was distracted by his guard, who's name was Ron or Rodney or something, pulling out his gun. "What are you doing?" Chase asked. Cameron turned to look at the guard as well, and she jumped when she saw the gun in his hand.

He was pointing it at her.

"I'm sorry." He said, a thick Eastern European accent coming through.

_No._

He found himself flinging his body in front of her. It was difficult to maneuver in the tight space of the nursing station, but he managed to wedge his body between Cameron and the counter before the frighteningly familiar sound of a gun shot rang loud in his ears.

He felt a hard impact in his chest, then knew no more.

* * *

For a moment that might have lasted hours, Wilson and Kama stared at each other, the whole hospital seeming to freeze in wake of the gunshot.

Just as quickly as it was paralyzed, the world moved once more, and Kama drew her SIG and raced towards the sound. It had seemed to have come from the ER. _Dr. Cameron. Head attending in the ER._

Just as she crossed the threshold of the ICU, another shot rang out. _No, no, no! _Her legs pounded the floor, and she raced as fast as she could, skidding around the corner and heading down the stairs, not wanting the elevator to hold her up.

She took the steps three at a time, nearly hopping the entirety of the last set of stairs as she hit the ground floor. She could hear the rapid footsteps and screams now, people racing past her to the emergency exits, frightened for their lives and desperate to get out of the hospital that was slowly turning into a graveyard.

Finally, she reached the ER, which had turned into a hellscape since the two shots had been fired. She recognized Kurt Lewis, a new officer on the force, on the ground, a bullet through one of his kneecaps, blood spreading in a pool around him. He was gripping his leg, screaming in agony, and biting down so hard on his lip he was drawing blood.

_To stop Kurt from chasing him... but what about the other bullet?_

She swung her pistol around to point at the nurse's station, and now she saw where the first bullet had made it's mark.

The doctor she recognized to be Robert Chase lay on the ground, unconscious, a bloody hole in his white lab coat, right through what she determined to be his left lung. Blood trickled from his lips, and she saw as Cameron straddled his form and quickly applied pressure to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"SOMEDBODY HELP ME!" She screamed, seeming to be near hysterics. Most of the nurses had fled the ER, but she saw two racing towards her.

"Which way did he go?" Kama asked over the din of the Emergency Room. Cameron, tears streaming down her face, jerked her head towards the ambulance bay.

"That way." She said, her voice hoarse. Tears fell from her face, leaving slight damp marks on Chase's blood stained garments.

Blood and tears.

She bolted as fast as her legs would carry her towards the ambulance bay, bracing herself for the rain and cold outside. She was pelted with hard rain drops the minute she left the warmth of the hospital, and they stung her eyes, but she ran anyway. She saw that the two guards at the ambulance bay had been knocked out somehow. Pistol whipped, probably.

_If you were the killer... where would you run? _Her profiler side kicked in, and she veered out of the parking lot behind the hospital, down a set of stairs, and onto the street. _He would have had a get away car. Look for the closest place he could legally park without drawing attention._

There was a small side street roughly three hundred feet from the ambulance bay, running between two maintenance buildings that held the equipment for the hospital grounds.

She sprinted towards it, whipping out her flashlight to shine it down the street. However, it quickly became needless, as two headlights sprang to life. Two headlights coming towards her.

_No, we can't let him get away again!_

Throwing caution (and protocol) to the wind, she aimed her SIG at the tires of what now appeared to be a windowless white van. Two loud cracks echoed against the buildings on either side of the street, causing her ears to ring. She knew she had made her target. The two front tires of the van were deflating.

However, there was another problem. The van was speeding towards her, skidding about wildly with it's busted tires on the slick road.

She was about twenty feet down the road, and turning her back was not a good idea with the car careening towards her. There was a small ladder going up the side of one of the maintenance buildings, and in a split second decision as the van was only about fifteen feet away, she launched herself towards it, her hands gripping the sixth rung. Her feet dangled about a foot off of the ground, and she quickly climbed as far as she could before she heard the resounding crash below her as the van, unable to be driven, collided with the side of the building.

The driver flung open the driver's side door and tearing down the street. _This is going to end the same way it did for Wayne. _A cautious voice said in the back of her head. She ignored it, jumping from halfway up the ladder to the hood of the van four feet below.

Hopping off of the van, she dashed after the man as fast as she could, drawing her SIG.

"FBI, freeze!" She screamed just as a thunder strike shook the world. She doubted that he could hear her, and if he did, he didn't listen. Aiming in this weather while running would be nearly impossible, but she would have to try.

As they made their way past the maintenance buildings and out onto a main street lined with shops, she fired off a shot with the new illumination provided by the street lights, which still wasn't much. Much to her frustration, she missed, and she saw Karma run down an alley on the other side of the street, moving faster than she could believe for someone who had received a bullet to the leg the night before. She cut between two parked cars and tried to gain some kind of lead on him, but her lungs were starting to scream for air, and she was losing her pace. As she rounded the corner into the alley, she slipped on the pavement and fell onto the unyielding ground, bashing her head. She saw stars in her eyes, but forced her self up.

_You can't let him get away!_

A rush of adrenaline pounded through her veins, and she found herself gaining on the killer as he reached the end of the alley. She was only eight feet behind him now. She decided to try and aim once more.

She pulled the trigger, and the man groaned, falling to the ground. She had hit him in the shoulder, not wanting to kill him. She jumped onto his back, pinning him to the ground, her gun at his skull. Before he really knew what was happening, she ripped his gun out of his holster, and after patting down his side, found a knife. She hurled them both as far a she could throw them. She saw now that he was dressed in a Princeton PD uniform.

She pulled out her handcuffs and forced Karma's hands behind him, cuffing him roughly. Still holding her gun with one hand, she took her cell phone out and speed dialed Wayne.

"Wayne. Get me backup to Washington Road, STAT!" She said as soon as she heard his breath on the other side of the phone.

"Kama, where the hell have you been? I just got a call from Ari, he said you were-

"Shut up, Wayne, _I've got Karma_! I've got him!" She insisted. The other end of the phone went silent, and all she could hear was the rain pounding against the ground around her, and Karma's shallow breathing.

"Alive?" He asked.

"Yeah. I shot him in the shoulder, but I didn't kill him." She informed him.

"Why not?" He asked slowly. She smirked.

"Well, I thought I'd leave that honor to you." She told him, her voice low.

"I'm sending backup. Be careful." He had a strange sound to his tone, a mixture of anger and subdued exhilaration.

"Will do." She responded, quickly hanging up the phone and putting both hands back on the grip of the gun, her finger inches away from the trigger.

"I'm impressed with you, Agent Kaczmarek." Karma said in a startlingly deep Russian accent. "I have never been caught before, though your friend Agent Wayne came very close." He commented. His voice should have been strained by the agony of having a bullet in his shoulder, but it wasn't. She took her flashlight and shined it on the back of Karma's neck. Taking her thumb, she wiped just underneath his hair (which she assumed had been dyed red) and could feel the makeup come off with her rain soaked thumb.

There it was, the small scar left by Wayne's bullet seven years ago.

"So it is you." She breathed. "You _bastard_."

"I am not a bastard, Agent Kaczmarek. I am merely a man who-" He explained calmly, but Kama cut him off.

"Understands necessity?" She growled, leaning down towards his ear. "Yeah, I've heard that's your motto, your pathetic little excuse for attacking and murdering innocent people."

Karma let out a short laugh. "From what I know of Dr. House, I would say he is anything but innocent..."

"What about all the other people you hurt? Do they deserve it?" She asked, rage coursing through her. Such complete disregard for human life... it was disgusting.

"Have you heard of the Italian philosopher Niccolo Machiavelli, Agent Kaczmarek?" Karma asked.

"'The ends justify the means.'" Kama replied, recognizing the name. "You're sick, and you're going to jail for a very _long_ time."

"Oh, Agent Kaczmarek, you seem to be operating under false assumptions here. I will not be going to jail." He said with a bit of amusement, as if she were a child.

"Really, why's that?" She pressed the gun harder into his neck. She could hear the sirens blaring in the distance.

"Well, I believe you and your colleagues will be a bit sidetracked searching for the bomb I've placed in the hospital."


	12. Time is of the Essence

**Chapter 12: Time is of the Essence**

_Disclaimer: House MD and it's characters aren't mine, all rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company._

* * *

_Before the shots..._

"-get down to some _very_ important hospital business." The end of House's wisecrack was cut off by Wilson closing the door behind him, leaving him and Cuddy alone.

"If I ask you something, can you give me and honest answer instead of some cute deflection?" Cuddy asked.

"Aw, you think my deflections are cute?" House joked, batting his eyelashes. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Seriously, House." She sighed.

"_Seriously_, Cuddy." House mocked. "You're going to ask how I am. I'm crappy. There, your question is honestly answered." Cuddy sighed once more, knowing that there was no point in pushing House any further. The man had a habit of keeping his emotions under tight lock and key.

"I talked to Cole's family." She began. House finally looked away from the TV and focused on her, interest, guilt, and a few emotions she couldn't discern flared in his icy gaze. "His parents passed away a few years ago, his sister is his only surviving relative. His son, Isaac, will go to her." She could practically see the wheels turning in his head. The thought that undoubtedly crossed his mind.

Cole's son would have to grow up without a father because of this killer.

"She's pissed, I'm guessing?" House asked tiredly. Cuddy nodded.

"Oh yeah. I managed to talk her out of suing the police force and the hospital, but just barely." She said, running a hand through her messy black locks. It had been one hell of a day, that was for sure. House had been accurate in calling the situation a shit storm; it certainly fit the bill. Between trying to keep the media hounds at bay and writing a press release, she'd barely had time to do her _actual_ job.

"I don't blame her. Her brother was under police protection when he was killed. It's pretty damn clear where the fault lies." House growled. Cuddy bit the inside of her lip.

"We'd probably have a lot more bodies on our hands if they weren't around, House." He didn't dignify this with a response, tearing his eyes away from hers. "Are you sure this isn't just misdirected anger?"

"Well gee, Cuddy, if I knew who was trying to kill us all, I'd probably be more mad at him." He snapped. She was about to respond when she heard the muffled gunshots in the distance.

* * *

"What?" Kama gasped. "A bomb in the hospital?" She fisted a hand in his hair and pressed his face roughly to the concrete. _Screw procedure. _"Where?!" Her frantic inquiry was met only by soft laughter. It was unsettling, to say the least. "Damn it, tell me!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three squad cars pull over to the curb, illuminating the dark rainy night with flashes of red and blue.

"It appears the force has arrived. I trust Agent Wayne will be delighted to see me." Karma said, shifting slightly under her. "You really should get on that bomb." He suggested, as if he was telling her a good place to get her groceries. She jerked him up into a standing position, keeping her SIG hard against his chin. His legs seemed weak. _Blood loss from the bullet wound. _She realized she had pretty much forgotten that she had shot Karma. _He's barely shown any pain at all since I shot him, no wonder I forgot about it._

Wayne had guessed that Karma was ex-KGB by his seeming invincibility to pain, and this virtually confirmed his hypothesis. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Wayne looking at her, dark blue eyes on fire with vindictive fury.

"I'll take him, Kaczmarek." He said. Wayne was their fearless, calm and cool leader, but his professional attitude seemed to be splitting apart at the seems upon seeing Karma.

"Wayne!" She burst out. "Get a bomb squad to Princeton Plainsboro _now_! He planted a bomb somewhere in there!"

"What?!" He paled. "Did he tell you that?"

"I'm hurt, Agent Wayne... talking about me like I'm not even here..." She could tell that he must have been losing a lot of blood by the sound of his voice. A vein in Wayne's forehead bulged, but he refused to look at him, focusing instead on her.

"Go back and meet with Tritter, and get everyone the hell out of there. He tell you where it is or when it's set to blow?" He asked her.

"I did not." Karma said before she could answer. She could see Wayne gritting his teeth.

"Work with the local officers and evacuate. Call your brother and tell him to get in contact with New York Mercy. There's not enough ambulances to transport everyone, and some are too critical to take the ride. We're going to need copters." He said decisively, and Kama nodded quickly before jerking Karma towards Wayne.

"You want him, I assume?" She asked quietly as thunder clap resounded in the broken silence of the night.

"Yes. I'll see if I can get any information from him at the station." Wayne replied, grabbing his collar, and slipping out his own firearm to point at his head, even though it was needless since the killer's hands were cuffed.

"Good luck." She told him. "I've got to get back to the hospital." He nodded as she turned and dashed away.

Kama ran as fast as her already tired legs could carry her, taking out her cell phone as she did and speed dialing Tritter.

* * *

Cameron hovered in the OR waiting room, head in her hands. The events of the past half hour overwhelmed her, and the fact that she was holding herself together at the moment was a miracle in of itself.

Chase had been shot. _Shot_. Taking a bullet for _her_.

The lethal projectile had embedded itself in Chase's lung. He'd lost a lot of blood in the chaos that followed the shooting, since nearly everyone in the ER had fled, fearing for their lives. The surgeon she had spoken to, Reynolds, he wasn't sure that he would make it.

_He might die._

_He might die because he saved me._

They'd only been together for a few months, and he risked his life for her. Chase's feelings obviously ran deeper than she thought. A lot deeper. Of course, right now, she had a lot more important things to worry about. Mainly her dying boyfriend in surgery.

It definitely didn't help that Michael Tritter, jackass extraordinaire, was probing her with questions she really didn't feel like answering. Shane had ran off after his sister when he had arrived in the ER, leaving Tritter to clean up the mess.

"I've told you everything I know." She snapped. "Chase's guard shot him, shot Kurt, then ran off, and Agent Kaczmarek chased after him. I don't know what else you want me to tell you." Tritter bristled, thrusting his notebook back into his coat pocket. It's not like she was trying purposely to be unhelpful, but one: she didn't know much in the first place, and two: she obviously had a lot on her mind right now.

"Listen, I know you may have a lingering grudge against me, but for the good of Dr. Chase, I suggest you put it behind you." Tritter replied, as if she was a foolish child. She restrained the urge to knee him between the legs.

"For the good of _Dr. Chase_, how about you go and do something to catch his assailant instead of standing here and annoying me?" She was stunned by how particularly House-like the comment sounded. At the moment, however, it was exactly what needed to be said. "There's nothing else-" _Oh crap._

She had completely forgotten about Vogler in wake of Chase's shooting. _Crap! _She mentally repeated. Tritter was talking (most likely more of his patronizing rambling) but she cut him off with a hand. "Edward Vogler!" She nearly screamed. He seemed taken aback, looking at her like she was mildly insane.

"The billionaire who took over the hospital board a few years ago?" Tritter asked for clarification. She briefly wondered how he recognized the name, but then remembered all the research he must have done on House during his pathetic witch hunt the year before. She nodded.

"Yes, yes- House told me that you guys suspected the killer was a hired assassin. That means someone hired him. Vogler _hated_ House, and he's filthy rich!" She felt a sense of deja vu as she tried to convince Tritter just as she had tried to convince Chase. He raised an eyebrow, retrieving his notebook and jotting down the name.

"We'll look into it." _We'll look into it? That's it? _She leaned her head back against the wall, the entire situation threatening to overwhelm her. She just wanted Reynolds to exit the OR and tell her that with a little recovery, Chase would be alright.

Suddenly, Tritter's phone rang, and he quickly picked it up. "Tritter." He answered, in classic cop-style. "Chase is in surgery... you did?" His eyes widened as he listened to who she assumed was the female Kaczmarek. "It's Karma, then... so Wayne's got him? You sure that's a-" He broke off, holding the phone a little bit away form his ear. "What? WHAT?!" There was a moment of thick silence as he listened to the caller. "How long do we have?" Another pause. "Okay." He snapped the phone shut and grabbed her arm.

"What are you-" She began, jerking away. Tritter slammed his fist into the fire alarm.

"You need to get out _now_." He commanded. She stood, dumbfounded. "NOW! There's a bomb!"

A bomb. In the hospital.

_No._

* * *

**"****_There is believed to be a bomb inside of the hospital. Please leave through the emergency exits as quickly as possible. All non-critical patients must leave immediately. Rescue personnel will be in to evacuate critical patients." _**

Tritter's voice came over the PA. House, Cuddy, and Wilson exchanged looks of horror. Ari (who had ran to House's room in the ICU after the gunshots had been fired) looked to House without hesitation.

"Can you walk?" He asked, already moving towards the hospital bed.

"The threat of being blown to bits is good encouragement, I can make it." He said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed with a wince. He still felt like shit, but if they moved slowly, he could certainly make it out of the hospital.

"Come on, we need to move quickly!" Ari said, flipping open his phone and jamming his fingers into one of the buttons. "Wayne, I don't know what's going on, but there's no time for you to explain. I'm moving them to a safe house. Yes. Okay."

By the time Ari hung up, House was standing on his own two feet, gripping his IV pole, with Wilson on one side and Cuddy on the other. "Let's get out of here." House said as he disconnected his own IV.

"You need to go in a wheelchair, House. You don't want to rip out your stitches." Wilson said, quickly grabbing a fold up wheelchair from the corner of the room. House rolled his eyes, but sank into it gratefully.

"Alright." Ari said, ripping open the door. "Follow me."

* * *

The interrogation room was small. Gray floor, gray walls, a single metal table with a post for the suspect to be chained to sticking up. One chair for the suspect to sit in. The interrogator was expected to stand.

Karma had been read his Miranda rights. They had only been five minutes away from the field office when Kama had subdued him, so they had gotten him bandaged up and in the interrogation room in just a brief fifteen minutes.

The man who had killed his wife, the man who he had sought out for so many years and nearly lost his life too (and vice versa) sat across the table from him. His face was rather frightening looking at the moment. The makeup he had piled on had been damaged by the rain. The pale, pasty makeup he had put on was half washed off, leaving half of his face freckled and the other unblemished. One contact had apparently fallen out as well, leaving one eye brown and one bright blue.

He looked like a monster. _How appropriate._

"My, my, it's been a long time." Karma observed.

"Yes." Wayne responded darkly. "Let's cut to the chase. Where's the bomb, Karma?"

"Oh, Wayne, I think it's long overdue for you to finally know my real name." He replied. Wayne blinked, surprised.

"Why would you tell me your real name?" He asked, tilting his head.

"I've been caught. Fingerprinted. You'll find out who I am quickly enough, I might as well tell you myself to spare the good Dr. Donald's time." Karma explained. How could this man be so calm? He had been captured, and he was with a man who knew he wanted to kill him more than anything in the world.

"What's your name?" He replied. Karma extended his unchained hand.

"Demetrius Ivashkov. It's a pleasure." Wayne didn't take his hand.

"You evil son of a bitch." He whispered before regaining his composure. "Where's the bomb?" Demetrius just smiled, staying infuriatingly silent. "Where. Is. The. Bomb." He repeated, making each word it's own demanding sentence. He had done hundreds of interrogations, but the stakes had never been so high. Not to mention, he was usually objective for the most part towards the suspects he was interviewing.

Obviously, this was a different case.

He leaned forward on the table, meeting Demetrius' mismatched eyes. "We've already got you on two attempted murder charges, two murders, assaulting an officer, breaking and entering, resisting arrest- you're going to jail for a long, long time. You really want to add anymore to that rap sheet?" He asked, trying to coax the information out of him.

He was met with the quiet smile once more. _Forget this_. Almost the entire field office was empty. Eric was down in the morgue, but aside from that, it was just him here. He lunged forward, throwing protocol out the window.

He lunged forward, gripping the front of Demetrius' shirt and bringing him forward as far the chain would allow.

"I have been waiting to kill you for _twelve years_." Wayne hissed. "Everyday since you killed her, I've fantasized about sending you out in the most painful, horrific ways possible. If self preservation is your prime interest, than I suggest you tell me where the hell that bomb is before I take off my tie and strangle you to death with it." He felt rage pulsing through every single inch of his body. His wife's beautiful face, marred by blood and death, flashed in his mind.

Demetrius just laughed at him, deep and hearty. "Agent, you really need to learn to control your anger." Wayne tightened his grip. "And I have no interest in self preservation." He added. Wayne arched an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" He asked slowly.

"You seem to be operating under the false assumption that I will be staying in your company much longer. You see, I always make a guarantee to my clients." He explained.

"Oh? And what's that?" Wayne leaned his face in close to the other man's, removing one hand from his collar and replacing it at his throat.

"I make them a guarantee that if I'm captured, their identities will not be compromised, no matter the cost." At that point Demetrius clamped down hard on one of his back teeth, a small pop sounding from his mouth.

"What the-" Demetrius let out one last sickening laugh before he went completely limp in his grip, his different colored eyes rolling back into his head.. Wayne let go, and the assassin collapsed to the floor, his chained hand holding him up in an awkward position. _Impossible, there's no way..._

Wayne dropped to his knees, opening up Demetrius' mouth to see if his suspicions were correct. There, at the back of his mouth, the remains of a small capsule. His fingers flew to his neck, searching for a pulse.

There wasn't one. _Damn it, a cyanide capsule!_

He had just lost the only person who could tell them where the bomb was.

* * *

House, Ari, Cuddy, and Wilson tried their best to make their way to the front doors of the hospital. The hospital lobby was crowded with escaping patients, nurses, and doctors, their footsteps creating their own thunder to mesh with the natural thunder outside in the raging storm.

Wilson pushed House's wheelchair, and Cuddy and Ari pushed through the thick throng of people blocking their way. House dialed Kutner as they neared the front doors of the hospital, worried about his applicants. He could see the trucks of the bomb squad pulling up in front, the armed officers preparing to race into the hospital.

"House!" Kutner shouted. "You've got to get out, there's a bomb!"

"I already know that, I'm not blind and deaf. Where the hell are you and the others?"

"We're heading out right now, we're in the hallway by the classroom, we'll be out in like two minutes-" Simultaneously, he heard and felt a massive explosive impact jar the earth, sending him flying forward out of his chair. Wilson, Ari, and Cuddy fell from the shock, and the entire hospital shook with screams and explosions. House's cell phone had landed next to his ear, and he heard a brief scream before the line went dead.

"The classroom." House choked over the chaos. "The bomb was in the classroom."


	13. The Rubble

**Chapter 13: The Rubble**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD and make no profit from this story._

* * *

Wayne's phone rang as he unchained Demetrius' corpse from the table. He had called Eric in as soon as he had ascertained that Demetrius was dead. Eric kneeled next to him, the remains of the capsule in his white gloved hand. "Cyanide capsule. They became popular during the Cold War for heavily undercover spies, and it's rumored that the CIA still uses them today. They're insurance, essentially. If an agent is captured by the enemy and there's little chance of escape, they can end their lives so they can't be interrogated for information. Our friend Demetrius appears to have been certain that he couldn't escape." Eric theorized, clenching his fist before looking at Wayne. "I'm sorry, Kenton. I know you wanted the chance to end his miserable life yourself."

Wayne grunted something inaudible, flipping his phone open. "Wayne."

"It's me." It was Ari's voice over the phone, winded and strained. "We were too late. The bomb detonated. A quarter of the ground floor's been turned to rubble, the bomb was in the wing with the conference rooms, classrooms, and lecture halls. Specifically, the classroom where House's new applicants were camped out. We don't know if any of them are alive, bomb squad is clearing the rest of the hospital, make sure there's no other bombs. Once it's clear, they'll send in the rescue team. House was on the phone with one of them when it happened-" He broke off, and Wayne could hear House's voice behind Ari.

"Lawrence Kutner." He said in a muted voice.

"Yeah, Lawrence Kutner. Said he heard a scream before the line went dead. All we can do now is wait and hope the bastard didn't manage to kill of House's entire team." Ari sighed.

"Damn." He swore. "One step forward, fifty steps back. We just lost Karma. Cyanide capsule embedded in one of his back teeth."

"You're kidding!" Ari burst out, his voice loud enough to make Wayne wince slightly. "Wayne, my God... I'm sorry."

"He's dead." Wayne replied bluntly. "The knowledge that he's burning in hell now is comforting, even if I wasn't the one who killed him. Who are you with right now, aside from House?"

"Dr. Wilson and Dr. Cuddy." He supplied.

"The limited access safe house on the outskirts, is it occupied right now?" Wayne asked.

"No. How many guards you want on the house?"

"As many as you can afford. Call local LEOs, I want at least two at teach entrance, a car on perimeter, and you and... find Kama, Shane, or Tritter, I want two of you inside with House, Wilson, and Cuddy." Wayne instructed decisively, his mind spinning quickly with the new and troubling development. "I want you in direct contact with the emergency responders, I want to know how many we lost as soon as possible. Double on security for Cameron, Chase, and Foreman as well, even if you have to call in reinforcements from Trenton." Ari gasped.

"I forgot, shit! The gunshots, earlier - who was it?" He asked.

"Somehow Karma infiltrated the force, he was disguised as Chase's guard. He went to shoot Cameron, but Chase took the bullet. He nailed Lewis in the knee before he bolted." Wayne explained, having been informed earlier by Tritter after he spoke with Cameron. Ari sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "House doesn't know." He observed.

"No, and I get the delight of telling him. Did he make it?"

"Last time I checked he was in emergency surgery, bullet embedded in his lung. Not sure if he'll make it or not. I don't know if they had a chance to finish the surgery before the evacuation started. He's probably on an air vac to New York Mercy or Princeton General as we speak. I think Cameron's with Tritter still. Foreman should be at his apartment, safe and sound." Wayne told him. "Alright, get the hell out of there in case there's another explosion, or worse."

"Got it. I'll check in once I know more about House's applicants." With that, Ari hung up. Wayne slid the phone into his pocket, a feeling of dull hollowness coming over him. He was a man who had just lost one mission, and was failing in another. He felt Eric's hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Kenton?" He asked carefully.

"No." Wayne replied. "But right now, that doesn't matter. Chances are you're going to have few more bodies in the morgue before the night's over."

* * *

The first thing Kutner was aware of was how much his head hurt. No other coherent thought managed to work it's way into his mind for a long time. For what might have been hours, or maybe only minutes, all he could focus on was the repetitive thumping in his temples. Finally, a tangible thought formed. _There's been an explosion_. Soon after that, he quickly remembered the others. _Shit!_

Although the idea of moving any inch of his body seemed excruciating and unpleasant, Kutner forced himself to crack open his eyes. As he slowly became more aware, he let out a racking cough. His lungs felt like they were on fire. _I must have inhaled a bunch of crap from what's left of the corridor_. He thought to himself as he tried to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

A thin shaft of light pierced the heavy, dusty darkness around him, lighting up his hand. It flickered in and out, and Kutner determined the source of the light to be a flickering overhead fluorescent light.

Most of the ceiling seemed to have collapsed from what he could tell. He managed to move his cut up, dirt encrusted hands and feel around in front of him. He was completely surrounded by rubble.

This was also the point when he realized his legs were pinned down. His hands quickly flew to his legs, and he realized a chunk of the ceiling was pinning everything from his thighs down to the ground. He couldn't feel them at first, and he felt his heart speeding up in his chest.

_That's the shitty thing about being a doctor - you know all the things that could go wrong, even more so than a regular person._

He saw no sign of the others, and the destroyed remainder of the hallway outside of the classroom was almost completely quiet, except for a small, cracking sound, which he guessed was the sound of the walls collapsing in on themselves. Was anyone even looking for them?

He shifted under the debris, and a shock of intense pain ripped through his leg, causing him to let out a scream of agony. His body shrank into the ground, and he felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. _Damn... okay, moving isn't a good plan._

He clenched his fists, trying to calm himself down. _They will find you. They will find you. _He repeated the mantra over and over again in his head, trying to keep himself from going into a full fledged panic attack. He didn't know who 'they' were, he didn't even know if someone was looking for him and the other applicants... but it was the only thing keeping him from hyperventilating.

An echo of a female voice sounded in the distance, and he froze, trying to make out the noise better. _Amber? Thirteen?_

"Hello!" He shouted. "Guys!?" He raised his voice as loud as it would go, eliciting another coughing fit from him. He heard the faint, muffled voice again. _It's coming from my right... I think. _He yelled again, and this time he managed to make out what the voice was saying.

"Here." It was a choked whisper, and Kutner realized that the speaker was much closer than he originally thought. He turned his head to the side, his neck pained, and his skull still beating like a drum. He tried to peer through the dust, and now that his eyes had adjusted somewhat to his dim surroundings, he managed to spot a mess of light brown hair several feet away. _Thirteen!_

"Hey!" Kutner said, flailing his hand out and managing to land his hand on the back of her head. She was laying face down, and her chest barely rose and fell. He jerked his hand away when he realized that the back of her head was warm and sticky. _Blood. _

"Thirteen!" Kutner called her name, trying to get her to look up at him. She groaned after a long moment and looked up at him, her eyes hazy. A trail of blood trickled out of her lip, and there was a large gash on her forehead.

"Kutner." Thirteen breathed out, her face dirty and scraped. "You're alive."

"Yeah." He responded, stretching out his arm as far as it would go so it could land on her shoulder. "You okay?"

"I... I think I've got a concussion." She said, closing her eyes for a long moment before reaching up to touch the back of her own head. She winced. "Oh, yeah, definitely a concussion..." She sagged against the ground, her breath ragged and shallow, much like his.

"You pinned down?" He asked her. She gulped before answering.

"I don't think so, but I'm not all that coherent right now..." She blinked and looked at him. "Unless there's two of you, I'm seeing double." She sighed, army crawling forward. She collapsed, her whole body shaking. "I'm not feeling so good right now." She murmured, seeming to be barely conscious.

"Same here." He replied. "My legs are pinned. Tried to move them, but... no go." He told her.

"You lost circulation and feeling in them yet?" She asked

"No, no, I think they're broken. Anytime I move them it hurts like hell." He told her.

"I'd give you some informed medical opinion about that, but right now I'm just worried about staying conscious." She told him tiredly.

"We are so screwed." Kutner sighed. "I don't even hear any signs of an emergency crew."

"I think we're buried pretty heavily under the rubble." Thirteen guessed. "We're lucky we've got any light in here."

"Yeah, we're really freaking lucky." Kutner coughed haggardly, the slight movement paining his legs to the point that his eyes watered. "Damn." He cursed, thumping his fist against the ground. "I've got to get my legs out from under this."

"If you give me a second to catch my breath, I might be able to shift some of that crap on top of you." Thirteen told him, her breathing still uneven with a hint of desperation to it.

"Okay." He responded, closing his eyes. The pounding headache continued it's rampage in his temples, and he massaged the sides of his head in the hopes of rubbing his pain away, reminding himself of when House massaged his destroyed thigh muscle.

Thirteen took several minutes to compose herself. Finally, she lifted her head, blinking her eyes several times. She moved forward, wincing slightly. She stopped right next to him, so close he swore he could almost hear her heartbeat. She leaned close, examining the rubble on top of his lower extremities.

"It looks like a chunk of the wall is pinning your legs down. I might be able to lift it just enough for you to wiggle out." She told him, her voice still strained.

"Isn't this kind of backwards?" Kutner asked. "I thought the guy was supposed to save the girl." He joked weakly. She rolled her eyes.

"Just shut up and try not to burst into tears." She replied, closing her eyes for a moment before gripping the sides of the collapsed wall fragment. Kutner gritted his teeth in preparation. He heard Thirteen grunt as she pushed up on the rubble, and he let out a shout. The pressure being taken off of his legs made them feel like they were being stabbed over and over again. Oh yeah, they were definitely broken.

By a nearly stunning feet of willpower, Kutner jettisoned himself out of the crevice, landing hard in the small clearing in the remnants of the corridor. He let out a scream of anguish, throwing his head back as he wailed. Thirteen dropped the rubble with a gasp and a crash. She fell back, her breathing ragged. Apparently lifting it even a little had been difficult on her injured body.

After an unbearably long moment, the pain in his legs subsided slightly, and he was able to form a few stable thoughts. _We've got to find the others._

"The emergency crew won't be cleared to come in and look for us until the bomb squad searches the entire hospital top to bottom. We could be stuck here for hours without help." Thirteen told him, running a hand through her now dirty hair.

"Way to be positive." He grumbled, trying to think of what to do next. "Who was closest to the classroom? I think that's where the bomb was set."

"Ridiculously Old Fraud." She paused before correcting herself. "Henry. And Taub was right in front of him." There was a long stretch of silence before Kutner responded.

"They might be dead." He commented. "God... they might be _dead_."

"Yeah." She sighed. "Look on the bright side. Amber's probably okay. She was nearly at the end of the hall when the bomb went off." Kutner scoffed.

"That's the bright side? You hate Amber."

"Not enough to want her dead." She replied. "We need to get out of here. If there's a secondary collapse, we're dead."

"I know, I know, but there's no way I'm moving with my legs right now. It's amazing I managed to get to where I am now." He thumped his forehead against the floor, frustrated by his own injuries. _What if this is it? What if these are my last moments?_

"I could..." Thirteen trailed off.

"There's nothing you can do. You should get out." He said, jerking his head towards the small opening that the light from the flickering fluorescent lamp is pouring through.

"I'm close to passing out, I'm not sure if I'll be able to get out of here and stay conscious." She told him, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"You've got to try." He insisted. "Get out of here, I'm serious."

"No, no way. I'm not leaving you here alone." Thirteen argued immediately, surprising him.

"Go!" He yelled, frustrated. He didn't want her to die down here with him. Despite only working together for about a month, he cared about the mysterious young doctor... and he knew he didn't want to share a grave with her.

"Kutner-"

"GO!" He repeated. "Get out of here, try and find Amber, and get the hell out." He tried to make his voice sound as strong as it could, considering the circumstances. She blinked, looking torn. She pursed her lips as her eyes darted to the small opening in the refuse. "Please." He added, hoping to convince her. He could see the defeat in her eyes when she finally nodded.

"I'll get help. I'll show them where you are." She pushed herself up on all fours and began crawling towards the gap. She turned back just as her head cleared the top. "Kutner, I swear to God, if you die down here, I'll kill you." She threatened before disappearing out of sight, leaving him alone in the ruins of the hospital.

* * *

Ari ushered House, Wilson, and Cuddy into the FBI car that was waiting for them on the hospital grounds. The entire place was in complete and total chaos. Helicopter blades beat over head, ambulance sirens roared in the distance. The university campus was becoming one humongous traffic jam.

House sat in between Wilson and Cuddy in the back seat, and almost rolled his eyes at their protectiveness. Ari sat in the driver's seat, Kama in the passenger seat. She had met up with them when they had gotten out of the hospital, shortly after the explosion.

"Which safe house?" Kama asked Ari, raising an eyebrow. Ari leaned over to the GPS on the dashboard and began tapping furiously on it.

"There's one on the outskirts, about ten miles from here. Secluded, no cell service, only one access road. It's the best we can do at the moment." He told her, leaning back in his seat.

"Who was shot?" House demanded the minute the car roared away from the curve. Ari and Kama looked at each other worriedly. _"Who!?" _He repeated, his voice rising. Ari gulped as they pulled onto the main drag.

"Chase." Kama was the one who answered. "He took a bullet through the lung when he jumped in front of Cameron. One of the local officers, Kurt Lewis, he was shot in the knee cap."

_Chase. _The young blond doctor's face flashed in his mind. The man he had worked with for three years, tried to guide as best he could without giving it away that he actually cared.

"Is he still alive?" House asked. Kama sighed.

"I don't know. He was in surgery last time I checked in with Tritter. He was with Cameron outside of the OR." She informed him. House leaned his head back against the seat. Cuddy's lips were pursed, and she turned to look at the smoking hospital in the distance. The hospital was her baby. Someone had attacked her baby. Wilson put his head in his hands.

House stared out the window at the pitch black, starless, and smoke choked sky. His life had turned into a war, and right now, he was definitely on the losing side.


	14. Safety Measures

**Chapter 14: Safety Measures**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD__**.**_

* * *

It turned out that walking shortly after being shot wasn't any more fun the second time than it was the first. The secluded cabin in the woods, their safe house, was obviously not handicap accessible. He wasn't about to be carried in, but having Cuddy and Wilson supporting him on either side was almost as demeaning.

There was a small, dirt path that led to the large covered porch that surrounded three sides of the cabin. Anyone who would happen to stumble upon the cabin (which would be unlikely, considering only a narrow dirt road led to the house's driveway, and even that was mostly obscured by thick evergreens) would think it to be just a normal hunting cabin or vacation home, not an FBI safe house.

Kama and Ari trailed very close behind them, guns and flash lights drawn. House rolled his eyes before looking over his shoulder at the agents.

"Isn't the point of a safe house is that it's SAFE?" He asked. Kama's eyes darted from side to side before responding.

"At this point, it's best to be cautious." She responded, shining her thin flashlight beam on the steep wooden stairs leading to the porch. "Are you sure you can navigate that? Ari can carry-"

"I'll be fine." He growled, cutting her off. Cuddy and Wilson both cast each other worried glances before helping him move forward. Five steps separated him from the cabin and the safety it provided, and with the assistance of his friends, he was able to get up the stairs, albeit slowly and rather painfully.

"Note... to self..." Wilson said once they reached the porch, out of breath from supporting most of House's weight. "next time a madman tries to blow up the hospital, bring crutches."

"Yes, because things like this are a daily occurrence." Cuddy responded tiredly as Kama and Ari cut in front of them. Kama slid her hand down a wood beam that supported the frame of the front door, and suddenly a small wood panel moved up, revealing a keypad.

"Secret keypad. Very Men in Black." House commented as Kama tapped in a quick combination. Ari opened up the door and held it for them as the four of them moved into the foyer of the secluded safe house, which was quickly illuminated by Kama flipping the light switch.

The place was pretty damn nice, he had to admit. A door to his left held a spiral wooden staircase that he assumed led up the second floor. Past the foyer was a living room that was open to the kitchen. The living room was well furnished - a large TV, three leather couches, a coffee table that appeared to be handcrafted, and a stereo. Glass sconces were the main source of light. From what he could see of the kitchen, it was mostly filled with high end, stainless steel appliances. A large, double door black fridge rested in the corner, and the middle of the kitchen was filled with an eight person oak dining table.

"Nice digs." House said, shrugging of Cuddy and Wilson's arms and leaning heavily against the wall. He heard the door lock behind them.

"The FBI tries to make the safe houses as comfortable as possible, since we never know how long one will need to be used." Kama explained.

"Any particular reason we weren't all moved here in the first place?" He growled.

"Well, most people, even if their in danger, won't give up their jobs and lives to hide away in a safe house. Not to mention you were still in need of intensive care. We couldn't just move a shooting victim hours after he'd been shot." Ari said with a sigh, stripping off his coat and tossing it on one of the chairs. "There's two rooms upstairs, one downstairs. I'm assuming you want the one on the ground floor, House?"

"Considering I'm not even sure if I have the energy to crawl right now, yeah." He muttered in response. "I need clothes."

"We keep this place stocked with the essentials. There's a few standard sized shirts, pants, and underwear in each of the rooms. Hopefully there'll be something to fit you guys until we can send an officer into town to buy you some." Kama replied.

"What are all the safety measures being put on this place?" Wilson asked. "Not that I'm not confident in your abilities, but this Karma guy is obviously very good at what he does."

Kama stared at him as the group moved into the living room. House sank down gratefully onto the couch, laying down and covering his face with his good arm. Cuddy and Wilson took the other couch.

"I didn't tell you..." She sighed, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Ari made his way to the kitchen.

"I'll get us some water." He called over his shoulder.

"Don't, I need you to call Wayne, tell him we've arrived. Double check with chief Graysmith, make sure local LEOs are on their way, then call Shane and Tritter." She instructed. House arched an eyebrow at her. Apparently, when it came to the Princeton-FBI task force, the feds were calling the shots.

"Alright." Ari agreed, changing his course and making his way down a hallway on the other end of the living room.

"Okay, I'll catch you guys up on everything that's happened since the gun shots a few hours ago. It's been hard to keep everyone informed with how chaotic everything has been." Kama began. House removed the arm that shielded his face and let it hang at his side. He was exhausted, but he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"The shots that were fired came from the ER, as you know. Dr. Chase took the bullet that was meant for Dr. Cameron. Karma was disguised as Chase's personal guard. After shooting Chase, he also fired a round into Officer Kurt Lewis' knee cap to prevent him from pursuing him.

"He ran from the ER and was out a few seconds before I got down there. As soon as I knew what had happened, I chased after him. He tried to get away in an unmarked white van, but I managed to take out the tires, causing him to try to escape on foot. I managed to shoot him in the shoulder, disarm him, and cuff him. I called Wayne to come pick up, and right before he arrived, Karma told me he had planted a bomb somewhere in the hospital. As soon as Wayne had him in custody, I ran back to the hospital. I let Tritter know what happened, and he alerted the hospital."

"I currently don't know where Wayne is or what happened to-"

"Karma's dead. Cyanide capsule, killed himself in custody." Ari shouted from out of sight. "Wayne told me earlier, sorry I forgot to tell you. I'm finding out more now. Wait, sorry, could you say that again?" Ari was clearly still on the phone.

Kama shook her head and ran hand through her hair. "Damn it."

"So." House said. "You guys managed to lose the only lead that you had on who wants to kill us." He paused for effect. "Fucking WONDERFUL."

Kama didn't appear to have the strength to argue.

"Apparently." She muttered. She pulled out her phone and began tapping furiously on it, brow furrowed, and Cuddy, Wilson, and House sat together in relative silence.

"Cuddy." House said suddenly, looking at the administrator, who had her chin resting on her hands. Her stormy gray-blue eyes looked distant. She looked at him.

"Hmm?" She asked, looking as tired as he felt.

"I'm sorry. The bomb, I mean... that psycho just blew up your baby. And... I'm sorry. You may want to get that on tape or video or something for proof." He told her. Cuddy gave him a small, melancholy smile.

"Thanks, House. I'll settle for eye witness accounts." She said as Ari returned to the living room.

"News. And lots of it." Ari said, stopping a few feet in front of the group. Kama pocketed her phone and looked expectantly at her coworker.

"Shane's still at the hospital directing the emergency crews and the bomb squad, trying to do damage control. They've got about three quarters of the hospital cleared, hopefully they'll be able to start clearing away the rubble within the hour and find everyone who's trapped. Chase just got off a life flight to New York Mercy. They had to suture him up before the surgery was over, they're finishing up with him now. They didn't expect him to survive the flight, so they're of the opinion he should survive since he's made it this long."

"Tritter is with Cameron and Foreman. They picked him up, decided it was too risky for him to still go about this life with what's just happened. They're heading to a safe house now."

"Our ME confirmed that the capsule Karma bit down on was a cyanide capsule. He's dead as a doornail. He recovered DNA from House's apartment that appeared to be Karma's, and after cross-checking it with Interpol records we finally ID'd Karma. His real name is Demetrius Ivashkov. Doesn't really matter now, I guess, since he's dead."

Ari shuffled his feet, biting the inside of his cheek. "Tritter's got local cops tracking down a lead Cameron gave him. The name Edward Vogler mean anything to you?"

House blinked, unable to believe his own idiocy.

"How the _hell_ didn't I think of that before!?" He sat up, wincing as his leg, ankle, and shoulder all simultaneously pained him. "Vogler's got the means and the motive. He's hated me from the second we met."

"But that was almost three years ago... why is he choosing to get revenge on you now?" Cuddy asked.

"I've kept track of him since you threw him and his money out on his ass. East Brook's been going downhill since then. Most people are speculating that apparently he must have been a huge tyrant that a hospital he donated a hundred million dollars to still axed him. Ruined his reputation." He explained. He made an effort to keep tabs on his enemies, and doing so with Vogler was incredibly easily, considering that he was a high profile millionaire... or at least he used to be.

"East Brook Pharmaceuticals declared bankruptcy three months ago. Vogler must be using the last bit of money he had socked away to hire Ivashkov." He looked at the ceiling, hating himself for missing it. _Am I losing my edge? If I would've thought of this earlier, maybe Cole and Brennan would still be alive... Chase wouldn't be shot... damn it._

He heard cars pulling up outside, and Kama nodded to Ari before darting out to meet them (and make sure it was Princeton PD, and not yet another assassin). Ari looked appraisingly at House, Wilson, and Cuddy. "You guys have had a rough day. Go, sleep. Kama and I can handle this. If anything changes we'll let you know."

To his annoyance, Wilson and Cuddy both immediately looked at him, as if to ask, "Do you need help?"

In a silent answer, he swung his legs over the side of the comfortable sofa with a wince, and heavily contemplated just staying there to sleep, but knew that would only convince Cuddy and Wilson of his invalid status.

Wishing desperately he had his cane, he stood up on weak and shaky legs. He felt his friend's tense next to him as they rose from their seats, prepared to catch him if he fell. Without another word, he turned away from them and began limping towards the adjacent hallway that led to the ground floor bedroom. By the time he had made it past the door, he felt both of them behind him.

"I think I can make it a few feet without collapsing." He snapped as he turned to look at them. Both of their mouths were pressed into thin frowns.

"We're worried about you, you don't have to crucify us for it." Cuddy pointed out. He just shrugged in response and continued on down the hallway. "Goodnight, House." She called.

"Night." He muttered, fairly sure she hadn't heard him. He could hear Cuddy's heels fading into the distance, but he still felt Wilson's presence behind him as the oncologist hesitantly followed him. When he reached the door of his new bedroom, he stepped inside and slammed the door in his friend's face without a word.

* * *

Thirteen didn't know how much damage was done to the rest of the hospital, but it appeared that the destruction had been localized to the classrooms and lecture halls. She tumbled down a heap of rubble, slipping on debris left behind from the explosion, and she found herself in what seemed to be a relatively clear hallway. Some of the ceiling had collapsed, and the walls were stripped down to the wiring, but it wasn't like the area behind her where Kutner was trapped (and most likely Henry and Taub as well) that was completely destroyed.

In the dark, dusty atmosphere of the remainder of the corridor, she could barely see. Only one of the fluorescent lights remained, and it was behind her and flickering on and off. She treaded carefully, both looking for Amber and making sure she didn't step on an unstable section of the floor.

_Wait a minute, does my phone still work? _She whipped her cell phone out of her pocket, hoping she could use it to light her way. She cursed when she saw the broken and crushed screen. _It's useless now. Fuck. _She tossed it to the side without a second thought. She doubted her contacts would even be salvageable from the annihilated phone.

She moved slowly to the left, resting her hand on the wall. If she walked slowly, hopefully she'd be able to get out of the hospital alive and get help for her injured and missing coworkers. Moving at a snail's pace, she continued forward in the near pitch darkness.

She persisted in her careful routine for what she determined to be about five minutes before her foot bumped into something soft. She immediately stooped down, feeling with her hands. She felt feathery hair underneath her palms. "Amber!" She exclaimed, guiding her hands down to the other woman's shoulders. She repeated the doctor's name, trying to grab her attention, but received no response.

_My God... she's not dead, is she? _She thought with a thrill of fear. Her hand flew to Amber's pulse point, praying silently to hear a beating there. She paused for a moment, hoping her own frantic heart beat wouldn't drown out Amber's. For a second that seemed like hours, she waited. Then, there it was - thready, but strong. Amber was just unconscious.

_She must have gotten knocked pretty hard. I have a concussion and I've been up for probably almost fifteen minutes by now. _Her damaged head was making it increasingly difficult to think and move, but she managed to persevere past the throbbing in her temples and the fuzziness that was consistently encroaching on her already frantic thoughts.

She sagged against the wall, her hand crawling up to Amber's face. _Oh, I've been waiting a long time for this. _She took a deep breath before slapping the other doctor hard across the face, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

"...the hell!" She coughed, her voice hoarse.

"Welcome back to the waking world." She breathed, happy to be next to another living being, even if it was Amber.

"What..." She trailed off with a gulp. "Bomb." She answered her own fractured question.

"Yeah." She replied. "I don't know how bad it hit the rest of the building, but I think the damage was localized to this wing of the hospital."

"Anybody dead?" She asked, slowly becoming more coherent.

"I don't know." She answered. "Kutner's in bad shape, but as long as we get him help soon, he should be okay. I don't know about Taub and Henry, they were behind us, closer to the classroom, which I'm guessing was where the bomb was."

"He's targeting us." She surmised.

"Yeah." Thirteen repeated. "Can you walk? We need to get out of here in case there's another bomb, or a secondary collapse."

"I... don't know." Amber said, and she heard the blond haired doctor shuffling next to her. She assumed she was checking herself for injuries. "I've definitely got a concussion, but I should be able to walk." She informed her.

"That makes two of us." Thirteen replied, standing up and yanking up Amber with her. "Link your arm with mine, we need to stay together." Amber obediently did so, and they walked arm in arm, slowly and carefully down the hellish hallway.


	15. Getting Out of Dodge

**Chapter 15: Getting Out of Dodge**

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!_

* * *

Kutner was losing the battle to stay conscious. His legs felt like they were on fire. Actually, that was putting it mildly. It felt like someone was pouring gallons of burning hot lava on his legs.

He had no way to sense how much time had passed, but it felt like Thirteen had left hours ago. Black edges were constantly creeping in on him, and it was a continuous fight to stay coherent. He rubbed a hand over his dirt covered face, trying to bring more clarity to his mind.

He desperately hoped that Thirteen had found Amber and they had made it to safety. With Thirteen's concussion, if there was a secondary collapse, she would be a goner. He really didn't want to think about that. He may have only worked with Thirteen for a few weeks, but he really liked the young internist.

He shuddered to think of what shape Taub and Henry were in if they were further back. He and Thirteen had been lucky they hadn't been killed by the bomb, he doubted that they were in good shape, if the two of them were even alive.

God, how had his shiny new job opportunity turned into this? Maybe he should have left after Brennan's murder. He should have been smart, he should have saved himself and gotten out of Princeton as fast as he could. _Cole left the hospital, and look what happened to him._

This was definitely a lose-lose situation. If the taskforce didn't catch whoever was behind this, this psycho was just going to keep picking them off until there was no one left. _What could House have possibly done to piss someone off this bad that they would want to murder all of us?_

From his brief time working with House, Kutner could see that he wasn't the nicest guy in the world, but he wasn't _evil_. He certainly didn't deserve having every person associated with him shot at or murdered. He was a man who spoke his mind - and Kutner respected him for that.

Unfortunately, is was painfully apparent that someone had not taken so kindly to House's straightforward attitude. All he knew was that within a few short days, his life had gone from good to incredibly dangerous, and although the change had been mildly exciting, the fact that the people around him were either getting injured or murdered was not.

This wasn't exciting anymore, it was just... frightening. And disturbing. And if his legs were any indication, incredibly painful. If he was left to sit with his thoughts and pain much longer down here, he might let himself fade out of mercy.

Finally, he heard the sweet sound of muffled, far off human voices. _Thank God - someone get me the hell out of here!_

"HEY!" He shouted, his voice hoarse from breathing in the dusty air caused by the explosion for so long. "HEY, I'M DOWN HERE! BY THE FLICKERING LIGHT!"

"Sir?" A male voice called, presumably an emergency responder. "Are you injured?"

_No, I just thought I'd stay down here in the bombed out ruins of the hospital for fun. I'm totally fine. _He bit back the distinctly House-like response and replied instead with, "Yes, I think my legs are broken."

"We're coming down to get you!" The voice was nearer now, and he saw a yellow-helmeted head peak over the edge of the rubble. "We're going to get you out of here." he assured Kutner. He nodded, relieved.

"A woman - light brown hair, greenish-blue eyes, did you find her?" He asked. The man nodded.

"Yes, we found her when we first entered this wing. She was unconscious, another young female doctor was with her." He explained as he navigated the rubble towards Kutner.

"Is she okay?" He asked, a thrill of panic running through him. Had he sent Thirteen off to die? _Another female doctor. She must have found Amber, so at least she's alive. But Henry and Taub..._

"She's got a severe concussion, but we don't think she's sustained any serious brain damage." The man shared as he bent down over Kutner, checking his pulse. "Don't worry, everything's going to be okay."

_Actually, I'm not sure if anything is going to be okay... _he thought to himself as he finally, and gratefully, slipped into the darkness.

* * *

"You'll be staying here until we catch whoever is behind this." Tritter said as he slammed the door behind him. After escaping the hospital (and being assured that Chase was relatively safe for the moment) Tritter and Cameron had taken an unmarked FBI car to Foreman's apartment, where Tritter had a hell of a time convincing him to abandon his home and head to a designated safe house.

"Yeah? And how long is that going to take? A week? A month? A year?" Foreman snapped, clearly unhappy with the situation at hand. Cameron was not looking forward to staying in close proximity to her former colleague for however long it took for the task force to hunt down the man who had hired Karma. She liked Foreman, and she considered him a friend, but being locked in a strange house with him while he was in an irritable mood on top of being around Tritter _on top _of worrying about Chase, House, and the others?

This wasn't going to be a fun experience.

The safe house turned out to be a small two bedroom, one floor house in one of the middle class neighborhoods in Princeton. It was a fine example of hiding in plain sight. She hoped to God it would be effective.

She examined the small living room that they had been ushered into. The inside of the house looked like it came straight out of a Clorox commercial. White walls, white carpet, most of the furniture was white - it was almost sterile.

Safe house it may be, but she didn't feel safe here.

"We'll keep you updated on the situation. There'll be cops in and out of here, you'll be protected twenty four seven. I'll have an officer drop by later with some of your things." Tritter explained as Foreman and Cameron both glanced around the house. They both heard a car pull up outside, and Cameron felt herself tense instinctively. Was she ever going to feel safe again?

Tritter looked out the window, checking to make sure it was the arriving undercover car, and not someone less pleasant.

"So what? We just stay cooped up in this house all day and do nothing?" Foreman asked, looking intensely dissatisfied. He crossed his arms, eyeing Tritter as he waited for an answer.

"It's the safest option right now." Tritter replied distractedly before setting his hand on the door knob. "An officer's coming inside as we speak, I'll be back at some point later - I'm going to try and get in contact with Mr. Vogler."

"I hope by 'get in contact with', you mean 'arrest'." Cameron muttered, leveling a glare at Tritter. He sighed.

"I mean 'get in contact with'. Try not to get killed while I'm gone." He threw over his shoulder as he exited the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Well," Cameron grumbled as she glanced at Foreman. "He's still as friendly as ever."

* * *

"This is where he lives?" Shane asked, raising a dubious eyebrow at Tritter. "I thought the guy had money."

"Past tense. You know his company went bankrupt." Tritter said as Shane looked at the high end apartment complex in downtown Trenton. The place looked nice (outwardly, anyway) but he had expected Vogler to live in a mansion or country estate, not an apartment.

"Just because his company went bankrupt doesn't mean he did." Shane said, opening the passenger side door and stepping out. Tritter had picked him up from the hospital after it had been cleared and the emergency crews had moved in. He was happy to be back in the field instead of standing around the hospital and hoping the place didn't blow up again.

"It doesn't matter, right now, we just need evidence so we can throw Vogler behind bars and get this case over with." Tritter said, slamming his door shut and looking irritated. "That way we can be done with this. The less time I spend with House and his people, the better."

"House tip you off about this guy?" Shane asked, walking beside the detective.

"No, Cameron." he responded. "I should have thought of it before, I knew that House had pissed Vogler off."

"How exactly do you know so much about House? I know that you tried to arrest him a few years back, but did you research and find everything you could about him?" Shane asked.

He knew the general idea of House and Tritter's previous experience with each other, but he didn't know any gritty details about it. He knew that Tritter was still pretty sore about what transpired between them, and if House's interactions with him and the taskforce were any indication, House still had some bad memories as well.

"I wanted to use anything I could to get him in jail." Tritter responded, seeming to tense at the mention of the incident. "The guy was practicing medicine when he was out of his mind on narcotics - he was a danger to all of his patients, and later on, his team as well." Tritter explained.

"He's still on the Vicodin, isn't he?" Shane asked as they entered the apartment complex. It was only six floors, so he didn't really see the point in taking the elevator. They began making their way up the stairs.

"His case got thrown out of court because Cuddy perjured herself for him on the stand. Of course, everyone seemed to turn a blind eye to that. House has got better friends than he deserves. As soon as the trial was over, to my knowledge, he went straight back on the pills." Shane eyed Tritter as informed him of this. _Someone's got some residual bitterness going on._

From what Shane had seen, House didn't exactly seem to be strung out and screwed up on drugs. He seemed clear, concise, and pretty damn smart. He was one of the most famous doctors in the world, he practically seemed to be magic - he couldn't imagine him being this evil drug addict that Tritter described him as.

He would have brought this point up to Tritter, but honestly, he didn't feel like getting into an argument with the gruff older man. Although Shane had been on the taskforce longer, and sometimes didn't necessarily appreciate Tritter's aggressive methods of solving cases, he did respect the detective. Respect meant keeping your mouth shut, sometimes.

They arrived outside of Vogler's apartment. It was pushing two in the morning now, and it wasn't perhaps the most cordial thing to show up this late, but with the nature of the case, the faster they could catch the person who had hired Karma, the better.

So, yeah, Vogler was getting a late night call. Shane thought he could hear the low thrum of a television from inside, so hopefully they wouldn't be met with someone irate at being woken up.

Tritter rapped on the door, and only a few seconds later, the door was opened to reveal a bald and portly black man. _Doesn't really look like a psycho, but appearances can be deceiving. _

"Edward Vogler?" Tritter asked needlessly.

"Yes." the man replied stiffly. "Who are you?"

"Detective Michael Tritter." he flashed his Princeton PD badge at the man before motioning to Shane. "This is Special Agent Shane Kaczmarek, FBI. We're from the violent crimes taskforce, and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"FBI?" he echoed. "What exactly is this about, detective?" Shane suppressed a sigh. An old rich guy like him was probably expecting the IRS, not the FBI. _Surprise!_

"Gregory House has recently been the target of a number of violent attacks. Some of his employees have been murdered, or nearly so. We caught the man responsible for these, but he was a hired assassin. We know about your unpleasant history with Dr. House, so, as we said, we'd like to ask you a few questions." Shane explained, adjusting his belt so his SIG was visible.

Intimidation tactics. Overdone, but most of the time, they worked. Vogler seemed hesitant for a second before beckoning them in.

"Fine, but I can tell you right now I wouldn't waste my time trying to kill House. He'll probably drive himself into an early grave on his own." Vogler relented, standing aside so Tritter and Shane could head into the apartment.

Vogler closed the door behind them as Shane and Tritter took in the apartment. It was well furnished, spacious, and clean. Vogler obviously had a little cash left from the fall of his company, though probably not as much as he wanted. Shane and Tritter sat down on the plush sofa, and Vogler sat in an armchair facing them.

Shane noticed a half empty glass of wine on the table, and wondered how many drinks Vogler had in him.

"When was the last time you saw Dr. House?" Tritter asked, getting straight to the point.

"About three years ago, right before I was removed from the hospital board." Vogler replied, seeming tense. _The question is, is he tense because he's guilty, or because he's nervous that he's being interviewed?_

"How would you describe the working relationship between you and Dr. House?" Shane asked, crossing his legs and watching the other man's face for signs of duplicity.

"There are a few colorful adjectives that would probably fit." Vogler sighed. "Honestly? I hated the sonofabitch from the moment I met him, but not enough to kill him."

"Do you blame Dr. House for the eventual bankruptcy of your company, Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals?" Tritter inquired. Vogler rolled his eyes.

"I blame that entire hellhole of a hospital. The dean of medicine was in love with him, head of oncology was his best friend, and even though the board hated House, they were either in Wilson or Cuddy's pockets. That place was a nightmare, I shouldn't have bothered with it." Apparently Tritter wasn't the only one with bitter feelings towards House.

"What have you been doing since the collapse of your company?"

"Watching my investments. Trying some new business ventures. _Not_ hiring assassins to kill old enemies." he added pointedly.

"Right," Shane said, pulling out his notepad. "Do you know a man by the name of Demetrius Ivashkov?" he asked, looking Vogler straight in the eyes. No sign of recognition. "Karma?" he elaborated, and Vogler's eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" _Damn it. That was real confusion. If he had actually hired Karma... _Shane bit the inside of his lip, hoping that perhaps Vogler was just a very gifted liar. _Come on, he's the only lead we have!_

"Karma is the codename of the assassin we apprehended after he set a bomb, shot one of Dr. House's ex employees, and fled the hospital." Tritter said, seeming to become equally doubtful that Vogler had anything to do with this.

"Wait a minute, that's why Princeton Plainsboro was bombed?" he motioned towards his TV, which was set on Fox. An aerial view of the hospital, a portion of it smoking and damaged, was on the screen. "Because of _House_?"

"It would appear so." Tritter said. "So you have had no dealings with this man? And you haven't hired anyone to seek revenge on Dr. House?"

"No," Vogler assured them. "Hook me up to a lie detector if you don't believe me - I was done with him when I left that hospital, and happy to do so."

"Mr. Vogler, we'd like permission to look at your spending activity over the past month, to assure that you haven't made any particularly large withdrawals. We can get a warrant to access your various bank accounts if you don't agree, but it would certainly do better to convince us of your innocence and speed things along if you just granted us permission." Tritter told him, leaning forward.

Vogler, although not seeming to particularly like the idea, agreed. "Fine, fine."

Shane had to admit, he had almost been hoping that he would refuse, thus making him look more suspicious. He exchanged a glance with Tritter, who nodded almost unnoticeably.

"Well, Mr. Vogler, that will be all for now, we may contact you later with further questions." Shane said, rising from the couch.

"That's all?" Vogler asked. "You really must not have much to go on. Good luck, gentleman. I hope I won't be seeing you on my doorstep again." with that, the ex-millionaire ushered them out of his home, closing the door when they were back in the hallway. Tritter sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Unless his spending activity turns up something different, I seriously doubt he did it." Tritter said, making his towards the stairs.

"If there's one skill that's crucial to being an agent, it's being able to tell when people are lying." Shane said, tailing him down the stairs. "He doesn't have a clue who Karma is."

"Damn it, he was all we had." Tritter cursed, looking as frustrated as Shane felt.

"Looks like we're back to square one."


	16. The Body Count

**Chapter 16: The Body Count**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD._

* * *

Bright light filtering in through the high windows seemed to land directly on House's face, rousing him from his restless slumber. _Ugh _was the only coherent thought he could form.

He contemplated just laying in bed continuously until something motivated him to get up, but a mixture of the fact that he had to pee and that his leg, now that he was awake, was paining him so intensely that if he didn't get some vicodin in him soon, he'd be curled in the fetal position.

He moved slowly, carefully lowering his damaged leg over the side of the bed. He winced an suppressed a groan of pain when he jostled his leg. _God, it's an eight today. _He wasn't kidding himself, he knew that it was elevated by the emotional trauma of the past few days.

Turned out having a guy trying to kill him and everyone around him wasn't the best mood lifter. He sighed as he grabbed his cane from where it leaned against the nightstand, rising slowly and carefully, putting as much weight as humanly possible on his good leg. He immediately reached into the nightstand, where he had kept the one bottle of Vicodin he had taken with him from the hospital. There were only fifteen pills left, he'd need to ration them out to avoid going into withdrawal.

He downed two of them, deciding his next stop would be in the kitchen to get some food. If he was out of the hospital, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of not having to eat hospital food. He shuffled towards the dresser with the intention of hunting down some clothes that fit him well enough to wear.

After a series of trial and error, he had a too tight tee-shirt on and a pair of jeans that were a little too loose for his liking. House thought he heard movement from elsewhere in the safe house, and he assumed that Wilson or Cuddy must be up.

He slowly exited his room, his gunshot wounds and leg throbbing along in a continuous, unpleasant rhythm. Although he heavily resented being hidden away for his own 'safety', at least he would be able to rest a little and hopefully recover from his wounds almost as well as he would have had he remained at PPTH.

He walked along the downstairs hallway until he found himself in the living room once more. Ari was nowhere to be seen, but Kama and Wilson sat on the couch, each nursing a cup of coffee in their hands.

_Getting cozy, oh Wilson, you sly dog. _He thought dryly as he moved slowly towards the kitchen, for a split second wishing he had a wheelchair. Although the confinement of a hospital bed both disgusted and infuriated him, being waited on hand and foot was always a benefit of his occasional injuries.

He guessed that Cuddy must still be asleep, as he saw no sign of her in the downstairs of the house, and he didn't picture her staying holed up in her room if she was awake. _Well, maybe I'll just have to wake her up. _At least annoying Cuddy would give him something to do in the boring safe house.

Wilson must have heard his cane tapping on the spotless wooden floor, as he turned his head to look at him. "Morning, House." he greeted.

He merely grunted in response, not feeling particularly chatty.

"Morning, Doctor." Kama said. "Ari's out with Wayne looking for leads."

"I thought you had a lead. Vogler." House said as he opened up the fridge. Although he had a faint hope for booze in the fridge, he was unsurprisingly proven wrong. After all of this, he really needed a drink - he didn't even care if it was ten in the morning, he'd float a cheerio in it or something.

"Shane and Tritter looked into it last night, and they said they don't think it's likely that it was Vogler. He let them check his bank accounts - all of them - without a warrant, and he seemed genuinely surprised when they told him the bare details about what happened to you. Plus, assassins like Ivashkov are paid by the hundred thousand at the least and millions by the most. With his recent bankruptcy, even with his leftover funds, it doesn't seem like Vogler would be able to afford Ivashkov's services." Kama explained before she took a deep draught of her coffee.

"So, you've got nothing once again." House said dismally as he pulled out a carton of milk and searched for a glass among the multitude of cupboards.

"We put out an APB on Ivashkov with his description. He's obviously been staying somewhere. Hopefully if we can get to his hotel room we can find some kind of sign of who he's been associating with." Kama assured him, but he wasn't particularly comforted. This investigation didn't seem to be going anywhere, and it was only a matter of time before whoever had it out for him decided to hire someone else to kill him.

"What about the hospital?" House asked, trying not to let the worry show in his voice. He looked back at the couch, and Wilson tensed visibly, and Kama pursed her lips. "_Damn it._" he cursed "Who?"

* * *

Thirteen sat on a bed in the ER, Kutner on the bed to the left and Amber on the bed to the right. Since the hospital had been cleared before the rescue crews had moved in, many of the staff had returned and patients were being brought back in, since the only part of the hospital that was damaged was a non-patient section. The hospital had quickly returned to it's status as a level one trauma center when a neurosurgeon had returned, so ambulances had stopped being diverted to Princeton General.

It seemed practical to get them to the ER so they could receive treatment as soon as possible, so they had been brought here. They were currently running a skeleton staff, but it was enough.

Kutner indeed did have two broken legs. He'd be in a wheelchair for the next two months, most likely. The only other visible injury other than a few bruises was a deep laceration on his forehead.

Amber's injuries were similar to her own, they both had severe concussions and would need to either not sleep or be watched while they slept to make sure they didn't stop breathing, not to mention they both had a enough cuts and bruises and blood on them to sink a battleship.

However, they all considered themselves lucky when they saw the next gurney being brought into the ER. All three of them immediately leaned forward and stared at the incoming patient.

He was almost unrecognizable past the blood on his face, however the short stature told them it was Taub. Before any of them could get a closer, he was rushed past them in the direction of the OR. Thirteen glanced at Kutner, who had paled significantly in spite of his olive skin tone. He raised a shaky hand to stop a passing nurse.

"Um, that guy they just wheeled through - is he gonna be okay?" he asked.

"I don't know his condition, you'd have to ask the emergency responders who pulled him out." she said. "I could probably find one of them to fill you in. Do you know his next of kin, who we should call to let him know what happened?"

"I've only known him a few weeks, but I'm pretty sure he was a wife. Raquel or Rhonda, something with an R." Kutner informed her, and she nodded as she hurried back into the usually busy, but now almost dead ER.

"If Taub looks that bad..." Amber trailed off. "Ridiculously Old Fraud is probably headed to the morgue."

"Thank you for that dash of cold water." Thirteen snapped. "We shouldn't assume anything until we're told he's either dead or alive." she looked back at Amber, who still had some dried blood on the side of her head, mixed in with her honey blond hair. Their temporary camaraderie was broken now that they were safe in the ER. "But hey, if he dies, less competition, right?" Thirteen asked in what she thought was a decent imitation of Amber's voice.

She was surprised to see that Amber actually looked visibly hurt by the comment, and she just shook her head with a roll of her eyes and laid down on the ER bed, lacing her fingers behind her head.

"Don't fall asleep," Kutner warned. Amber glared at him.

"Yeah, thanks, I went to medical school, too." she said in response, and Thirteen suppressed a sigh. Everyone nearly dies, and they start squabbling... she needed to set aside her distaste for Amber right now.

Several minutes of silence passed between the three of them before Kutner broke the quiet with a hesitant question. "Thirteen?" he asked, using her name as a question.

"Hmm?" she looked at him, having been distracted by her own thoughts and throbbing headache.

"What's your real name?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why do you suddenly want to know? We've been working together for almost a month now." she asked, curious as to his sudden interest.

"We nearly died trapped in the same eight by eight hole, and I don't even know your name. In case this guy comes after us again, I don't want to bite the dust without knowing." he elucidated. She blinked, surprised by his frankness.

She paused, deciding she was long past the point where her mystery was responsible for her running lead in House's game, which was honestly the last thing on her mind at the moment.

"Remy." she told him quietly. "Remy Hadley."

"Remy?" Amber questioned. "I thought Remy was a male name."

"It's unisex." Thirteen responded tiredly. She looked back at Kutner. "Happy?"

"Not particularly." he said. "But that's more to do with the 'hospital falling on our heads and breaking my legs' thing." he replied with a slight sad smirk.

"Are you the doctors who were asking about Chris Taub?" an paramedic who had been strolling towards them asked. They all nodded in unison. "I understand you want an update on his condition... he's not doing well."

The paramedic carefully explained that Taub had been crushed under the debris and barely able to breath for several hours. The lack of oxygen may cause permanent brain damage, but they hadn't gotten quite that far yet. Aside from that, he had several bloody lacerations that would need stitches and deep contusions, along with a broken arms and fractured pelvis. Compared to Taub, they had gotten out very easy, though according to the paramedic Taub would survive, though his recovery would take longer than even Kutner's.

"What about the other doctor? The older man?" Thirteen asked. The paramedic blinked and shuffled uncomfortably before letting out a slight sigh. She had been a doctor for several years, and she knew what that look meant.

"I'm afraid we were too late to save him. He was closer to the blast than anyone, and when the bomb went off he was completely flattened by the falling debris, breaking his neck and crushing his ribcage. He's in autopsy now, and it's look like cause of death is a splintered rib through his heart."

_Brennan... Cole... Henry... who's next?_

* * *

Cameron breathed a sigh of relief as she entered Chase's hospital room. Although she had been assured that her boyfriend was fine, she felt like in this case, she needed to see it to believe it. The past night had been wrought with momentary flashbacks to the appearance of Karma in the ER.

The gun pointing directly at her heart.

The chill that ran through her along with the complete certainty she was going to die.

The sudden appearance of Chase's back in front of her, and the split second she had to realize what was about to happen.

The gunshot ringing out in the ER, followed by one single tortured shout to Chase as he clutched his chest and collapsed on the floor.

The blood slowly leaking out of him in a puddle, touching the tips of her tennis shoes, which she had gotten rid of last night after realizing she was leaving bloody footprints.

Frantically trying to get someone, anyone to help her save him - the certainty of her own death replaced by the guarantee of Chase's.

She shuddered as she made her way to Chase's bedside, two armed guards hovering close behind her, along with a third standing outside of Chase's room. Tritter had been incredibly reluctant to allow Cameron to leave the safe house, but after badgering him for several hours, he had finally relented.

She needed this.

Chase had survived the surgery, though it would take a while for his lungs to heal completely. An oxygen canula was placed in his nostrils, and his heart monitor beeped in a steady rhythm next to his bed. Aside from the heavy bandaging across his chest and the pale tone of his skin, he looked... okay.

According to his attending, he hadn't woken up yet, but she hoped that maybe he would regain consciousness during her brief visit. Tritter had given her a half an hour, though she had argued for more, she didn't want to push her luck.

She took Chase's limp hand in her own as she settled down at his bedside, biting her lip as she looked him over. Although she was relieved that he had managed to survive this disaster, she felt a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that even though Karma was dead - a fact she had found out from Tritter earlier - she still didn't feel even remotely safe.

Someone was still after House, and it didn't seem like he or she would be satisfied until all of them were either injured or dead. She could only hope that they could find whoever had hired Karma before it was too late. Hopefully the extreme measures that had been taken to protect them all would help, but she wasn't particularly faithful in the task force's abilities.

She looked at Chase for a long time, silently beseeching him to open his eyes, but unfortunately, she was met with nothing but the quite sound of his breathing...

For now, she supposed, that would have to be enough.

* * *

"Finally," Ari said as he walked through the door of the hotel room. "it's about damn time we found something to go on."

"Let's just hope we can find some kind of evidence of who he's been contacting here, or else this is a wasted trip. Hired assassin cases are always tricky like this." Wayne said, narrowing his eyes as he peered around Ivashkov's suite in the Parker-Nichols Hotel in downtown Princeton. "Finding the killer themselves isn't anymore difficult than usual, but finding the person that's actually behind the crime?" Wayne paused as he opened up the wooden wardrobe. "Next to impossible."

"Optimistic today, aren't you?" Ari asked as he dropped to the ground to look under the bed.

"Hard to be optimistic when we lost our only suspect thanks to my own negligence. The whole getting shot in the stomach thing kind of puts a damper on my day as well." Wayne responded, absent mindedly brushing a thumb against his abdomen. He really should have taken some time to recover, but damn it, there was no _time_.

"You couldn't have known about the cyanide pill. I mean, come on, who would? I thought those things were put out of commission after the Cold War." Ari said, fumbling with a hand underneath the bed skirt.

"We did, I'm not so sure about the Russians." Wayne responded, rooting through the pockets of the pants that Ivashkov had hanging in the closet. At that point, Wayne's phone rang, and he quickly answered.

"Yeah?"

"Boss, we found Ivashkov's car. It was parked in a parking garage about a twenty minute walk away from the hospital." it was Shane. "Dark blue sedan. Got a military grade sniper rifle in the back, Lapua rounds."

"That's what he must have used to shoot House the first time..." Wayne trailed off. "Anything else in there?"

"A few fake IDs and credit cards, some paper money - nothing that could point us toward his client, though." Shane said, seeming put out. Wayne sighed.

"Get it to the evidence garage and process it, there might still be something to find."

"Got it." with that, Wayne hung up the phone, still looking around the room. "What we need more than anything is his cell phone." Wayne muttered. "But it wasn't on him, and it's not in his car."

"They found his car?" Ari asked, heading into the bathroom. Wayne nodded. "Well, if he's had any sense, he was using a burn phone. Probably bought a new one after every call he got from his client."

"Then we search trash cans around the hotel and the hospital. I don't care if we have to send every cop in the tri-state area dumpster diving, we're finding one of his phones." Wayne said, brow furrowing in determination.

"Uh, Wayne?" he heard Ari call from the bathroom.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think there'll be any need for that." a second later, Ari strolled out of the hotel bathroom, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he held up a small pre-paid track phone.


	17. Stalemate

**Chapter 17: Stalemate**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD._

* * *

"And look at that. Only one call on the log, and it's from yesterday, right before the shooting." Ari said as he hit the button to check the call log on the cell phone.

"Great, all we have to do is trace that cell number, and we'll most likely have our client." Wayne said, feeling a bigger surge of hope than he had felt in the entirety of this investigation. Finally, they had something other than dead ends.

"I'll call it in." Ari said, slipping his own phone out of his pocket and plugging one of his ears as he called the field office to have the number traced. Wayne continued his search around the hotel room, eyes trained by hundreds of investigations combing over every detail.

_Everything's immaculate - clean, neat. Just like his work. Except with Brennan... that was violent, macabre, and held a personal aspect to it. This isn't like his usual assignments. He screwed up with House, there's no other explanation. His client must have taken the advantage from there, told him to just murder indiscriminately..._

_Who could hold this kind of grudge against House that wouldn't be painfully apparent?_ Wayne wondered. _Why would someone hate him this much?_

"Wayne," Ari called his name, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Got the trace on the cell."

"Who is it?" Wayne asked.

"Some guy named Mark Warner. They're doing background checks on him right now, trying to figure out who he is, what relation he has to House, if any." Ari explained.

"Have they got an address?"

"Yeah, he lives in an apartment in downtown Trenton." the officer responded, already heading for the door. "Ready for a little road trip?"

"Absolutely." Wayne replied. "Let's call Kama, she can check with House to see if the name rings any bells."

"Good idea."

* * *

House sat across from Wilson and Cuddy, each of them eating whatever food they had managed to scrounge up from the safe house kitchen. House picked listlessly at his sandwich. Stress had always interfered with his appetite. Being chased by a madman fell into the category of stressful for him.

Kama had nodded off on the couch in the living room. House had wanted to wake her, but Wilson said there were enough officers outside that they would be fine, then noted how tired the FBI agent looked.

"Defending your girlfriend? How chivalrous." House had commented, narrowing his eyes at Wilson, who had stammered out some embarrassed response that was too half-assed for him to remember.

Cuddy had awoken about thirty minutes earlier, dragging herself into the living room like a zombie. He was fairly sure she hadn't slept well. She had arrived just as Kama had told House that Ridiculously Old Fraud hadn't survived the explosion at the hospital, and that Taub was critical.

Cheery way to start the morning. He had liked Henry, he really had. He had never had someone who could follow his own train of unconventional thought so easily, especially someone who had never even officially attended med school.

Another death. Three so far, and that was only if Chase and Taub both made it through. Chase was looking fine at the moment, but Taub was currently in surgery, and House wasn't sure of his odds.

Kama's phone rang, and she jerked awake, hand immediately flying to her pocket, quickly putting the phone to her ear. "Kaczmarek." This was followed by a brief silence as Kama listened to whoever was on the other line. House, Wilson, and Cuddy's focus was all aimed at the young woman, both anticipating and dreading any news.

A few moments later, Kama held the phone away from her ear and looked to the three of them. "Dr. House, does the name Mark Warner ring any bells?"

_Unfortunately. _"Yeah. He's married to one of my exes." House said, quirking an eyebrow. What could Mark have to do with this? The two of them certainly didn't like each other by any stretch of the imagination, but he was fairly sure that Mark didn't want to kill him.

Hell, he was fairly sure he wanted Mark to die at one point, but he didn't think that the man had ever hated House as much as House hated him.

"Does he have any negative feelings towards you?" she inquired. _It all depends on whether Stacy got up the nerve to tell him that she slept with me and was planning on leaving him..._

"I doubt he has any positive feelings towards me, but that's not any different than ninety percent of the people I meet. Why?" House really didn't feel like going into any details about his brief affair with Stacy two years prior, or anything about his interactions with Mark.

"We found something that may connect Warner with the attacks on you and your doctors. Wayne and Ari are heading to interview him now." Kama told him, before putting her phone back to her ear. "Okay. Yeah. I'll check in with you then. Good luck." With a click, she hung up on the phone and trotted over to the kitchen to take a seat next to Wilson.

"Mark." Wilson said, seeming somewhat lost in thought. "It never occurred to me that he could be involved in this."

"He certainly has a reason to hate House." Cuddy commented, lifting a spoonful of oatmeal out of her bowl as she eyed him questioningly.

"What reason does he have to hate me? He won. He got Stacy. I didn't. He should be happy with that." House said with a shrug.

"I can think of a few reasons." Wilson commented pointedly. He glared daggers at him as he tore a chunk out of his toast.

"Even if he somehow found out about _that_, the response isn't appropriate to the action. It'd be like me letting my dog take a dump in his yard, and then he lights my house on fire."

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" Cuddy asked sarcastically. House rolled his eyes.

"I think right now it's best for us to just hope that this isn't a dead end." Wilson advised. "So we can try and get things back to normal."

House snorted through his mouthful of food. "And what exactly is your definition of _normal_?"

* * *

Ari stared out the window as he and Wayne drove up to Mark Warner's apartment in Trenton. According to Shane, Warner had moved into the small downtown apartment after his separation from his wife Stacy six months earlier. Shane had dug up as much as he could on Warner, but the man had come up almost completely clean, aside from the divorce and recent loss of his job as a high school guidance counselor.

On the outside, it appeared he was respectable, educated, and fairly ordinary, with a bit of bad luck. _Of course, that's how Bundy and Dahmer seemed to everyone... until they found the bodies..._

When it came to law enforcement, rule number one was not to judge on appearances - _never _make assumptions. He wasn't going to start jumping to conclusions now.

"How do you want to play this?" Ari asked. Wayne smirked at him. They had been working together for years, and when out in the field, Ari preferred working with Wayne over anybody else. "You want to be good cop, or bad cop?"

As they stepped out of the car, Wayne stared up at the shaded apartment windows, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Bad cop." he answered resolutely before heading up the stairs of the complex. Ari tailed him in, hoping that Wayne didn't mix up 'bad cop' with 'homicidal cop'.

A few moments later, they were in front of the apartment door. Ari lifted his fist and knocked three times.

"Hello?" he called, feeling a sense of deja vu from the night before. "Mr. Warner? This is the FBI, we need to speak with you." although technically he himself was an officer, declaring themselves as the FBI wasn't wholly incorrect because of Wayne's presence, and it was certainly a bigger incentive to open up the door. More intimidating.

They were met with nothing but silence. Following procedure, Ari knocked once more. "Open up!" Once again, no response. He looked at Wayne, and the older agent gave him a brief nod. Without hesitation, Ari backed up several paces before charging shoulder first into the door. The flimsy wooden structure didn't survive under his weight, and soon he and Wayne were heading through the splintered remains, weapons drawn, senses alert.

The apartment was small, typical of a bachelor, or in this case a divorcee. Furniture without personality sat in an emotionless living room, which was only a stone's throw away from the kitchen. Dishes sat in the sink, drawing flies and emitting an unpleasant scent. Ari moved forward slowly, eyes flashing around the room.

"Mr. Warner?" he didn't detect any signs of life from the apartment. It was a weekend, and his car was outside, indicating that he was home... surely he didn't know they were coming?

"There's no one here." Wayne said, holstering his SIG. "Let's look around, see if we can find some sign of where he went."

"We don't have a warrant." Ari commented. Wayne just gave him a look that implied that going through the normal channels were the least of their problems at the moment. Wayne progressed into the small kitchenette while Ari moved to the bedroom.

It was dim. Tight. He felt almost claustrophobic in the narrow space. He could almost see it playing out in his head like a daytime soap opera. Mark Warner, the happily married man, with a beautiful wife and home, and the perfect job. Then he splits with the wife and everything falls apart. He ends up living in this dump, loses his job.

Maybe it was enough to push him over the edge.

He went methodically through the room, just as they had gone through Ivashkov's. He was about to give up hope of finding something relevant when he found a crumpled up receipt sticking out of the top dresser drawer. He eased it open slightly, examining the slip of paper.

"Wayne, I think you might want to see this." Ari called as his eyes scanned over the words. A moment later, Wayne appeared behind him, peering over his shoulder at the receipt.

"Gasoline. And lots of it." Wayne sighed and shook his head. "This is not good. The only reason he would need this much is to either travel a long distance without having to stop at a gas station, or if he wanted to burn something to the ground, and since his car is still here..." he trailed off. "Question is, what's he planning to burn down?"

"No clue," Ari answered honestly. "but we better find out. I think we should call Terry and have him check Warner's phone records, so long as he's got a registered cell."

"Do it."

* * *

It was time to end this. Ivashkov, supposedly the best in the business, had failed. He had been ready to give his entire life savings to the man, and he had been thwarted by a couple of uppity FBI agents and rent-a-cops.

The only option was to do this himself. Eventually the police would find out - they were annoying that way. He had gotten himself in deep, perhaps too deep. But no, he wasn't going to just walk away, he wasn't the kind of man that left things unfinished.

Today, Greg House would die, and his friends would die right along with him, and he would finally have the revenge he deserved. His contact on the taskforce had informed him of where the safe house was, and he was currently moving stealthily through the woods, until he was close enough to set the trees surrounding the house ablaze.

The gasoline was heavy in the backpack he had, so he was moving slowly. But that was alright - it's not like they were planning on moving House anytime soon. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. He continued on into the woods, fantasizing about the look on House's face when he watched his best friends die in front of him.

Mark Warner was not a man who left things unfinished.

* * *

Tritter sighed as his phone rang for what must have been the hundredth time that day. For God knows what reason, he always seemed to be the one forced to fend off the media when they had high profile cases. Perhaps it was just a side effect of being the newest addition to the task force, but goddamn, it was _annoying_.

He picked it up, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Detective Tritter."

"How close are you to the safe house!?" it was Wayne's urgent voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm heading there now to relieve Kama, why?" at this point, the phone reception began to cut in and out. He had just pulled onto a heavily wooded dirt road, and he surmised that the thick trees and foliage was interfering with his service. Wayne's words were cutting in and out.

"You've - not - someone - contact."

"You're breaking up," he said, hopefully loudly and clearly enough for Wayne to understand what he was saying. "I'll call you back when I've got better service."

"D-" was the only fractured response he heard before he hung up the phone. A slight knot of worry worked its way into his stomach. It was a rare occasion that Wayne sounded anything but calm, cool, and collected, and this was one of those moments.

Something was wrong, and he didn't like it one bit.

* * *

He finished pouring the last of the ten gallons of gasoline he had purchased, tapping the bottom to get out any excess. It had been one hell of a trick avoiding the three cops stationed around the woody safe house, but he had managed to avoid them so far. With the way he had poured the gasoline, hopefully the fire would separate the officers from the safe house.

He wasn't worried about how he would escape. Even if he managed to get away, he couldn't see much of a life waiting for him, on the run from the police. He didn't want to die, of course, but if he was going to, he was going to go out with a bang, both literal and metaphorical.

He took out his lighter, and without any hesitation, he flicked it and sent a spark into the fluid he had poured all over the ground. A second later, a brilliant fire flashed, spreading faster than he fought possible, seemingly being born from the ground and growing to adulthood in one breath.

He almost had to smile at the terrible beauty of it all.

* * *

House lounged in one of the arm chairs, chin resting on his cane. Well, no, _lounging_ wasn't really the right word, as he was tense as a taut rope. The puzzle that had become his life splayed out in his mind, and he twisted and turned it in all manners, trying to understand the connection.

Every interaction he'd ever had with Mark played out in his mind. _Could that man be capable of this? _He hated the fact that he didn't know the answer.

He was interrupted from his ponderings by the distinct smell of smoke. He glanced at Wilson and Cuddy, who were sitting on the couch, and they too seemed to notice the scent.

"Wood smoke?" Wilson questioned. House pushed himself out of his chair and headed to the window, peering out. A second later, he felt Wilson and Cuddy on either side of him, also searching for the source of the odor.

To his horror, he saw a fire spreading rapidly through the surrounding woods. The officers assigned to guard them were frantically trying to put it out to the best of their abilities, but so far seemed to be failing. Every second that passed, the fire was moving closer and closer to the safe house.

A tree weakened by the assault of the flames broke with a resounding crack and collapsed over the path leading to the house. _This is not good. This is SO not good!_

"Oh God," it was Cuddy who spoke. "What the hell are we going to do? How are we going to get out?"

"I don't think you need to worry about that." Punctuating the statement was the distinct sound of a gun safety being flicked off behind them.


	18. Checkmate

**Chapter 18: Checkmate**

_A/N: Here we go, the final chapter of Retribution (minus the epilogue). I hope it's a fitting end. Thank you to everyone for the feedback and encouragement._

_Disclaimer: I don't own House MD._

* * *

"Put your hands up and turn around."

House obeyed, fear causing his heart to pound like a drum in his ears. He slowly turned, raising his hands above his head and holding his chin high, trying not to allow the terror he felt coursing through his veins show. He saw that Cuddy and Wilson were mirroring his actions.

The three of them turned as one, facing their attacker.

Kama stared down the sight of her pistol, which was pointed straight at his heart. He felt Wilson tense with shock next to him. House shook his head, disappointed with himself for not thinking of it before.

"Of course," he said, staring at the young woman. "I should have known. He couldn't have done this by himself." Kama remained frozen in place, her hands gripped so tightly around her weapon that her knuckles were turning white.

"Him?" Wilson sputtered. "Who? Karma?" his eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. "You were working with Karma!?"

"Not Karma," House said, narrowing his eyes at the young blond woman. "Mark."

"You figured it out," Kama commented. "congratulations, but I'd have to say it's too little, too late."

"How..." Wilson trailed off. "Mark was behind all of this? He hired Karma? He's the one who wants us all dead?"

Kama nodded her head towards the spreading flames outside. "Well, I suppose there's no point in dancing around it now... none of you are going to last much longer anyway. Yes, it was Mark. He should be arriving any minute, actually." she said, glancing over her shoulder. Wilson took this chance to be a complete idiot, and dived for her legs, apparently trying to tackle her to the ground.

_No, you idiot - NO!_

A gun shot resounded in the previously silent house.

* * *

Tritter's eyes widened as the strong smell of wood smoke was suddenly explained. As he pulled onto the narrow road leading to the safe house deep in the recesses of the woods, he saw it - towering flames consuming the forest, blocking his view of the cabin. The three officers who had been assigned to guard the perimeter were standing slightly away from the ring of flames, one of them on their cell phone, the other two looking utterly hopeless.

_Shit._

He pulled along the side of the road a safe distance from the flames, jumping out of his car and making his way over to the closest officer, the sound of the growing fire roaring in his ears.

"What the hell happened!?" he exclaimed, feeling the heat at his side, and he had to squint his eyes against the intensity of the fire.

"No idea, the whole damn place just burst into flames! We tried to control it, but it spread so fast, and it blocked our way into the house."

"You mean they're all trapped in there?"

"Yeah, we didn't even have a chance to get in before that tree collapsed over the road. We called the FD, but they won't be out here for another half an hour. There's nothing we can do." the officer responded.

_Nothing we can do, my ass._

Without another word, Tritter turned on his heel and got back in his car, backing up to the end of the road before he centered his cruiser on the center of the path. There was only one way he was getting into that house and back out alive. The idea of risking his neck for House and his friends wasn't exactly a sunny thought, but he was a cop.

_Protect and serve._

He jammed his foot on the gas and floored it, accelerating quickly and heading like a speeding bullet towards the wall of flames. _You know, sometimes I really hate my job. _Was all he could think as his car plunged through. For a moment, he felt as though his entire body was going to melt, and he let out a shout as the flames seared him, but it was only for a split second, and then he was on the other side of the fire, though if he stayed in the same place too long, the fire would envelope where he was now, about ten paces from the porch. He drove his car up as close as he could before getting out and slamming the door.

He drew his gun and headed up the porch stairs, but then decided that going around the back was a better idea. The backdoor led into the kitchen, and it wasn't guarded since Kama could easily see it from the living room, unless she was standing by the stairs or the window.

He made his way around the side of the house, coughing from the amount of smoke choking the air. He ducked so anyone inside of the house wouldn't be able to see him - he didn't know whether whoever had set the fire was inside, and he wanted the element of surprise on his side.

He crept around the corner of the wrap around porch to the back end of the house, and was surprised by a slightly shorter man with dark hair and eyes, with a murderous look on his face. That was the only observation he was able to make before he was pistol whipped, and blackness consumed him.

* * *

Idiot cop. It was too late now, the plan was in motion, and things weren't going to be stopped, especially not by Tritter. Oh, the tragic irony - he had seen in the papers his one man vendetta against House, and now here he was trying to mount a rescue. It was darkly amusing.

He rolled Tritter's body out of the way with his foot, coughing against the black smoke roiling through the air in waves. He headed through the sliding glass door of the cabin, moving as quietly as he could. He didn't know whether Kama was continuing her facade or if she had turned on House, Wilson, and Cuddy yet, but he needed to take precautions either way.

He was halfway to the kitchen table when he heard the shot.

* * *

Wilson fell to the ground, clutching his thigh, and House and Cuddy both immediately stooped down to the ground next to him. Wilson let out an agonized scream, and panic pounded through House's heart. _Calm down, calm down, it's just his thigh, if you can keep him from bleeding out, he'll be okay, just calm down._

"Hands away from him! Now!" Kama ordered, brandishing the gun at them. House's hands were applying pressure to the wound on Wilson's thigh as the oncologist writhed underneath him, a steady stream of barely discernible curse words rolling off of his tongue.

Cuddy raised her hands, but House didn't move an inch. "Now!"

"He's going to die if I don't help him, you idiot!" he yelled in response.

"Well, this is more of a matter of whether he wants to bleed out or be burned alive, as there's really no option but death now." House's eyes darted up, and they locked with the familiar eyes of Mark Warner, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

He would have been surprised if he hadn't been so damned terrified. He pressed harder on Wilson's thigh as blood soaked his hands and finger tips. His own bullet wounds screamed in agony from the sudden drop to the ground, but he blocked that out as best as he could.

He should probably be surprised by Mark's presence - after all, he really hadn't thought that he was capable of murder, of _this_... but even he was wrong sometimes. He heard Cuddy gasp from beside him.

"You're the one trying to kill us all? Just because House slept with your wife!?" Cuddy burst out.

"Great idea, remind the psychopath why he's trying to kill us in the first place!" House said through gritted teeth, not caring that now both Kama and Mark had guns pointing right at him. God, there was so much blood. He wasn't use to dealing with things like this, he wasn't an ER doc like Cameron, he dealt with invisible infections and bacteria hiding beneath the surface, not bloody, gushing bullet wounds...

"Stand up and away from him now, or I'll blow your brains out." Mark warned, chillingly calm. House looked up at him, and he saw the change now. Any rationality or sense of human compassion was gone. The only thing left was icy hatred and malice, complemented only by an insane glint in his eyes.

"H-House... d-do what he says..." Wilson choked out as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He considered his best friend for another moment before reluctantly lifting his blood soaked hands and standing up.

Mark moved forward to stand directly in front of House. "It's been a long time."

"So what, you came here to catch up, shoot the breeze? Either kill me or say what you have to say." he didn't want to play games, but then he realized that stalling might actually give him enough time to figure out a plan. Being crippled and recovering from wounds didn't put him at much of a physical advantage, but he had a genius IQ, and this seemed like a hell of a good time to utilize it. "I'm guessing she told you?"

"I wanted kids." Mark burst out, seeming to have been holding that in. "I loved her, I wanted to grow old with her, I wanted a family..." he smiled a bitter, slightly mad smile. "then she told me she slept with you when I was in physio. That she was going to leave me for _you_."

"And what, you divorced her? That was your choice, not mine." House argued. _Stall, stall, just keep him talking. Once the fire department gets here, they'll bring an ambulance, and the cops will be able to get through to the house... stay alive until then, keep Wilson and Cuddy alive._

"No, no... she divorced me. Because I snapped when she told me, and she didn't understand... she didn't understand what she did to me. What _you_ did to me!" his voice cracked slightly.

"What I did to you?" House questioned. "We had no friendship, no existing relationship. We were basically enemies, and you expected me to spare your feelings, put you above myself? That doesn't make any sense."

"Shut up!" Mark screamed, taking a threatening step forward. "For once in your miserable life, shut the hell up!"

"You've lost it," House surmised, and suddenly he found a strong left hook being landed on his jaw. He spun away from the punch and fell to the ground, his knees and hands catching the brunt of the impact. A second later, he felt a sharp kick to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

"Stop!" Cuddy yelled from next to him, and he felt that she had shifted to try and cover part of his prone form with her own. _No! _he regained enough breath to push her away from him, a little more roughly than intended.

"Don't, I won't let you." he didn't know exactly what he was trying to communicate, but Cuddy seemed to understand.

"Oh, what? You won't let your friends die for you?" Mark asked as he grabbed the collar of House's shirt, jerking him up and shoving him against the wall next to the window. Kama was standing impassively behind him, eyeing Wilson with pursed lips and keeping her SIG trained on Cuddy.

"That's a damn shame, House, since you're going to watch them die." his breath was hot and moist on his face, causing his stomach to do flips. The gun was still gripped in one of his hands, right next to House's ear. Much too close for his liking.

Perhaps if he landed a knee in Mark's crotch, he could wrestle the pistol out of the other man's grip and turn the tables, but with Wilson bleeding out and a gun pointed at Cuddy's head, he couldn't take the chance of one of them getting injured... or worse.

"I loved her, you bastard. She was my whole life - I lost her, I lost my house, I lost any hope for a family, I lost my job," he tightened his grip, his fingers moving up to his throat, clenching tightly and making it difficult to breath, something that was already a difficult task on top of the kick to his ribs and the smoke in the air. "You took away everything from me, and now I'm going to do the same to you. You're going to watch the two people you're closest to die, which is what you deserve."

"Don't do this," he wasn't going to plead with the insane man, but he could at least talk some sense into him. "you don't have to be a murderer." the fingers around his throat tightened.

"Shut up!" he repeated.

"Mr. Warner," Kama said quietly. "this is going too far. If you're going to kill them, kill them. Stop drawing this out."

"What's the story with her?" House asked, jerking his head as much as he could towards Kama. "How'd you get her to betray everyone and help you out?"

"Money is an amazing thing, House." Mark said. "I've saved compulsively over the years - never been much of a spender. Once Karma failed and ended up in a body bag, I had plenty of money left to pay Ms. Kaczmarek here to keep me updated on your whereabouts, and to help me finally end this."

"End this? You started this!" House exclaimed. Mark pushed him one more time against the wall before releasing him, gun still leveled at his face.

"No, you started this. You did." Mark shook his head. "And it's time for you to pay." with that, he swung his gun to aim at Cuddy. "You first."

Cuddy bent her head, her entire body shaking violently, eyes pinched shut, tears streaking out of them. _No, no, no! I can't let this happen!_

He had one decision in that moment. Stand by and watch Cuddy be murdered, or do something.

He chose option two.

He dived at Mark, tackling him around the waist and slamming the two of them into the ground with a smack. He heard two guns go off - both Mark and Kama's, but luckily it seemed that they both missed. He rolled to the side and kicked out hard at Kama's leg, bringing her to the ground as well. Cuddy seemed to unfreeze at this moment, and she let her hands dropped and threw her entire weight on top of Kama, trying to pin her to the ground and prevent her from aiming her gun.

House struggled as well with Mark, his knee in the man's back as he tried to wrestle the weapon from his grip, clawing at his hand and trying not to scream shrilly at the pain levels in his leg, ankle, shoulder, ribs, _everywhere_.

_Come on, come on!_

He fisted his hand in the back of Mark's hair and banged his head off of the floor, but his upper hand was quickly lost, and Mark bucked him off, causing him to land with a painful crash to the floor. Mark rose slowly, clutching his nose, which House had apparently broken when he smashed his face against the ground. The gun was hanging loosely from his hand, and he brought it up shakily to point at House, ignoring Cuddy and Kama, who were scuffling behind him. Cuddy landed a heavy punch to Kama's stomach, sending the woman doubling over. House would have continued watching, but he was bit distracted by the terrifying and feral smile spreading across Mark's face.

"I'm done playing games, House."

_This is it. You're going to die._

His finger twitched, preparing to squeeze the trigger, preparing to kill him...

A single _bang _echoed in the cabin's living room.

* * *

Ari and Wayne arrived just as the fire department managed to purge enough of the flames to clear a small path to the house. Without a second thought, they exited their cruiser and raced past the gathered firemen and officers, up the steps, and burst into the living room. The cabin had caught fire, but only several portions of the roof had been burned, and it was still standing strong, but the scene inside was still a mess.

_Please let them still be alive. _Wayne pleaded with whatever force might be listening.

First, a dead body, the man they could only guess to be Mark Warner was laying on the ground, a crimson blossom spreading on his chest, his eyes white, glassy, and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Secondly, Wilson, sweat wetted his shirt and forehead, and House squatted next to him, holding a towel to Wilson's thigh, which was quickly soaking through with blood. House's bright blue eyes were filled with worry and fear, and the older doctor looked incredibly panicked, more so than he'd seen him in the short time he'd know him.

Cuddy was kneeling down next to Wilson, a hand on his shoulder, her lips pursed and her expression matching House's. Finally, Tritter stood over Kama, who was face down on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her back. His weapon was held in his right hand, the safety off.

Everyone in the room seemed to look at him and Ari at the same time, and all he could think to do was a lift a hand in greeting, then offer to carry Wilson out to the ambulance. House finally released his friend, dragging in a ragged breath as he leaned against the wall of the not-so-safe-house.

Treading carefully, Wayne carried the injured man to the ambulance, the doctor's friends trailing close behind, with Tritter and Ari leading Kama, both wearing looks of betrayal.

* * *

He never liked ambulances. Small. Cramped. The sterile smell usually found in hospitals was magnified ten fold, clogging his senses and tickling the back of his throat. Everything was too white, and the ride was generally uncomfortable and bumpy.

But right now, he really, _really_ liked ambulances.

Cuddy had been injured during the fight with Kama, she had a few bruises and several deep cuts on her arms and abdomen from a knife Kama had pulled out. The emergency medics had tended to her, and Ari and Wayne had promised to drive her to the hospital.

House was riding along with Wilson, hands clasped in front of him and resting on his chin as he considered his best friend, who had been given a compress and a morphine drip that finally stopped the whimpering and groans that the other doctor had been producing since he was shot.

"I beat you." House commented, smirking down at his friend. Wilson gave him a hazy smile in response, but said nothing. "I got shot twice - three times if you count the nick on my ear, five times if you count when Moriarty shot me. You got shot _once._.. lame."

"House." was all Wilson responded with, and he arched an eyebrow at his best friend.

"What?"

"Is... is it over?"

There was a moment of quiet before he responded.

"Yeah... yeah, it's over. It's finally over."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, the epilogue will be posted later this week. I'd like to thank all of you readers, reviewers, followers and favoriters for your support. This story wouldn't have happened without you. I can't say I'm satisfied with the whole story, but it was a learning experience nonetheless. As always, if you enjoyed my story, I'd like to point you to my profile and the works. Once more: thanks!_


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Disclaimer: I do not own House MD._

* * *

_One month later..._

"I kind of have to give them all a job. It'd be one hell of a big middle finger to fire them now, after nearly getting murdered. I think Cuddy will understand," House said with a shrug as he reached across the table and grabbed a handful of Wilson's fries, shoving them into his mouth without hesitation.

"Classy," Wilson muttered, though he saw a small smile playing on the other man's lips. "Well, you'll have a team that's really seen everything now. Not many doctors can say that their boss' ex's psychopathic ex-husband hired a Russian ex-KGB assassin to try and kill them," he paused for a second. "Wow, that sentence had more 'x's than most of the porn tapes you own."

"It sounds almost stupid, doesn't it?" House mused aloud, his mouth full. "It all sounds so ridiculous, saying it now."

"It wasn't so ridiculous then." Wilson said darkly, massaging his thigh absent mindedly. His injury had healed for the most part, but it still smarted, and it left one hell of a nasty scar.

House snorted in response. "No kidding."

The funerals had been the worst part. There had been a memorial service held by the hospital for the three lives that had been lost - Cole, Brennan, and Henry. Taub and Chase had both pulled through, though the recovery had sometimes been challenging and both had a few scars to show for their troubles.

By some miracle, all of his employees stayed on board. They all seemed to share the philosophy that after this, things could only go uphill. Cameron had joked that he should give a warning to any future employees the possible risks of working for him.

Cameron and Chase were doing spectacular in lieu of the entire incident, and he had told them if they ever got married, they better credit him nearly getting them all killed for bringing them closer together. He also pointed out that Cameron was basically stuck with Chase for the rest of her life - after all, he did take a bullet for her.

Foreman had gotten fired from his job at a new hospital, but had refused to return to PPTH, on the grounds that he didn't want to die. That was understandable. He hadn't heard from Foreman since Mark's death and Kama's arrest, and he didn't expect to any time soon.

Cuddy had offered them all time off. None of them took it. They had been working solidly since two days after Mark nearly finished them off. Kutner was still in a wheelchair, his broken legs slowly healing, but he was the only one who's injuries were painfully visible. Thirteen and Amber had recovered swiftly from their concussions, with no lasting damage from their injuries.

The wing of the hospital that had been destroyed was being rebuilt, and the process was about a third of the way done. Needless to say, the hospital wouldn't be holding any lectures anytime soon.

The biggest question mark left by the whole incident was what caused Kama, who House had admitted to not pegging as a traitor and accomplice to a murderer, to stab the taskforce in the back and work with Mark? Shane had been able to shed a little light on the situation.

Apparently, Shane and Kama's father was a gambling addict. Every loan shark in Trenton was after him, and it was only a matter of time before someone iced the guy for not paying off his debts. Shane had been estranged from his father for years, but he and Kama were still quite close.

She would do anything to save him, so she took the five hundred thousand offered to her by Mark in exchange for the location of the safe house and helping him take down House, Wilson, and Cuddy. Sometimes it was amazing what lengths people would go to in order to save the people they loved.

Wilson had been bothered, since he had been undeniably attracted to the younger woman. When House had inquired about it, the other man had just shrugged it off. "It's okay, I mean, I've never been known for excellent taste in women."

Two weeks later, he went on a date with Cutthroat Bitch. They had gone out three more times since then. Normally he'd try his best to interfere in the fledgling relationship, but right now, maybe they all needed someone to help them move past this crap.

He didn't know whether to blame himself or not... Mark's reaction had obviously been totally out of proportion, and something inside of the man had completely snapped, but he had pushed over the first domino by sleeping with Stacy. He decided in the end that he couldn't blame himself... if he ever wanted to sleep again, anyway.

He decided that he would need to have a conversation with Stacy, though finding her turned out to be one hell of a trick. He had nearly exhausted all avenues before he finally managed to get a hold of one of her old friends and convince her to give him Stacy's phone number.

It hadn't been a terribly pleasant conversation.

Stacy told him the events that led to Mark's mind snapping like a dry twig. After she and him had left Princeton together, things had gone well for the next year and a half. However, when Mark brought up the idea of having children, of starting a family, she knew that she would have to tell him about her past infidelity.

Mark lost it.

He apparently trashed their living room and pushed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious. He stormed out of the house, and she woke up several hours later. Wasting no time, she had the divorce papers filed by the next morning.

After arrangements were made and they worked out their finances, Stacy moved as far away from her and Mark's previous home as she possibly could. "There was something about the look in his eyes, Greg. It scared me, and you know I'm not easily scared. Something inside of him broke, and Jesus, I didn't want to see what he was capable of."

She was completely shocked by Mark's actions, and seemed to blame herself for the turn of events. House bluntly told her that she was being an idiot - Mark was nuts, that wasn't her fault. If he had the capability inside of him, it was going to come out sooner or later, the question was only when.

He had told her in a solemn tone that he was sorry. He didn't specify why, but he was sorry for something. He didn't know whether he said it to make her feel better or to make himself feel better.

He'd also had a cathartic talk with one Detective Michael Tritter.

It was at the memorial service. Tritter and the rest of the Princeton taskforce, with the exception of Kama, had come to pay their respects to the lives they weren't able to save. House had limped slowly over to Tritter, coming to stand beside the taller man.

"Tritter."

"House."

"...thanks."

"You're welcome."

There was a brief moment of silence before House spoke again.

"I still hate your guts."

"My sentiments exactly."

Life went on, just like it always did, and just like it always would. He would continue stealing Wilson's food, being an ass, and curing patients - things didn't change that much. But he did make one promise to himself...

Never, ever sleep with a married woman again. _Ever_.

"Hey, Wilson?" House inquired, taking another handful of fries. Wilson sighed, scooting the basket closer to himself.

"Yeah?"

Brown met blue, and House couldn't help but smile a little. "Is _this_ your definition of normal?"

Wilson hesitated as he pondered how to answer the question. He looked at House, then at the fries, then at the bustling hospital cafeteria.

"You know what, House? I think it is."

* * *

_A/N: End. Roll credits. "You Can't Always Get What You Want" plays over my name listed in tiny white letters. I'd give another tearful thank you, but I think you guys already got the idea last chapter. Also, I'm wondering, what was your favorite chapter? I'm curious to know what I did right. On the flip side, what was your least favorite chapter? I'm curious to know what I did wrong!_


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